
^ 













A.' . ^^Shrz. + 



TO 



ENGLAND AND BACK 



TO 



ENGLAND AND BACK 



A IVIN^ER VACATION 



3 • B / 

ON l-KNOW 



CANON tfCNOWLES 



Going, staying; staying, going, 
Little recks the ready mind ; 

Wheresoe'er good work is doing 
Richest realm he there shall find." 
Goethe 




l /l 



iwk 



CHICAGO 
A. C. McCLURG AND COMPANY 

1892 



THE LIBRARY 
Of CONGRESS 

WASHINGTON 



COPYRIGHT 

By A. C. McClurg & Co 

A. D. 1892 



DEDICATION. 

TO MY 

MANY SYMPATHETIC FRIENDS AT HOME AND ABROAD, 

WHO FOLLOWED MY 

"WINTER VACATION" IN THE COLUMNS OF 

" THE LIVING CHURCH," 

I DEDICATE THIS VOLUME, TRUSTING THAT THE LETTERS, 

HERE PRESENTED IN MORE PERMANENT FORM, 

MAY FIND WITH THEM A 

RENEWED WELCOME AND AN ABIDING INTEREST. 



J. H. K. 



CONTENTS. 



i. 

Leaving Chicago — Sundaj r in Cleveland — New 
York— Rev.Dr. Houghton— Trinity Church 
— Rev. Dr. Holland — General Theological 
Seminary — Professor Richey — Fifth Ave- 
nue — Central Park — The Pyx — Departure 
on Germania 13 

II. 

Smooth winter seas — Cure for sea-sickness— 
Fellow travellers — Beautiful waves — Sun- 
day services - . - - - 18 

III. 

Sunday in Ireland — St. Finn Bar's Cathedral — 
An ordination — An afternoon walk — Even- 
ing service. 23 

IV. 

Christmas Day — Kilmallock — The old abbey — 
Church services — The Largess at the 
gate. ...... 28 

V. 

Dublin— St. Bartholomew's— St. Patrick's Ca- 
thedral — Memorial service for Duke of 
Clarence— The Table d' Hote. - 32 

7 



(Ecmtente. 



VI. 

Donaghmore — The Celtic Cross — Culdee re- 
mains — Belfast — Clerical meeting — Green- 
ore — Holyhead — London. - - 39 

VII. 

Westminster Abbey — The Clergy and Choris- 
ters — The service — Canon Farrar's reading 
— Henry" Seventh's Chapel — Encumbering 
monuments — Busts of Keble, Maurice, 
Kingsley 45 

VIII. 

The Brompton oratory — The ceremonial — The 
music — The sermon — Evensong at St.Paul's 
— The two Presbyterian clergymen — Canon 
Scott Holland. 51 

IX. 

St. Paul's Cathedral — Patronal feast — Matins 
and high celebration — Stainer's Amen, se- 
lection from St. Paul — The solemn effect — 
The departing crowd ... 56 

X. 

Contrasts of London — The National Gallery — 
Old favorites — Rosetti's Annunciation — 
Turner's drawings — The Church Times 
office — Guildhall — London Bridge — Lower 
Thames street — The Embankment — Water- 
loo Bridge — Perspectives — Suggested mu- 
sic 64 



<£ontmt$. 



XI. 

Early Sunday morning in Westminster Abbey 
— St. Mary's Hospital, Paddington — Christ 
Church, Lancaster Gate — The Missionary 
— Kensington Gardens — The Albert Memo- 
rial — Evensong at the Abbey — Canon Far- 
rar's sermon — Night at St. Paul's — Hon. E. 
Lyttleton's jsermon - - - 70 

XII. 

St. Mary Magdalene's, Munster Square — High- 
gate Cemetery — Whitechapel — Toynbee 
Hall— Stjude's— The view at the Tower 79 

XIII. 

Lincoln's Inn — St. Alban's, Holborn — Macono- 

chie Memorial Chapel — S. P. G. Rooms — 

Evensong at Westminster — All Saint's, 

Margaret street - 87 

XIV. 

St. Andrew's, Stockwell Green — St. John the 
Divine, Kennington — Nottingham — The 
Market Place — The old negro - 92 

XV. 

The Nottingham lace warehouse — The daily 
service for the workers — The London lady 
and the factory girl ... 97 

XVI. 

English hospitality — Excursion to Clumber — 
Rufford— Thoresby — The Duke of Newcas- 
tle's beautiful church - - - 101 



io (EonUntz. 



XVII. 

St. Mary's, Nottingham — Canon Richardson — - 
An English congregation — Sawlev, Derby- 
shire --.--. IIO 

XVIII. 

Ash Wednesday in Oxford — The Com mi nation 
Service — Preaching of Knox Little — St. 
Barnabas Church - - - - 116 

XIX. 

Meeting of Church Congregational Music As- 
sociation --_-- 123 

XX. 

First Sunday in Oxford, Bampton lecture at 
St. Mary's — Bishop Barry — Cowley Iron 
Church — The Common room — Walk to If- 
fley Church — Evensong at New College — 
The bells of St. Giles - - - 129 

XXI. 

A day in Oxford — Architectural groupings — 
Christ Church Meadows — The river — 
St. Barnabas — Father Maturin — Seabury 
House 137 

XXII. 

Chapel of Keble College— The students— The 
music — The warden — High Celebration at 
St. Barnabas — Oxford by moonlight 143 



Contents. 



XXIII. 
Breakfast with a Don — Excursions from Ox- 
ford — American relics— The Missionary 
College — Hospitality — The recluse author 

149 

XXIV. 

Oxford routine-^Lecture by Dr. Stainer — The 
Bodleian — The lady from the Fayoum — 
Gifts of Laud and Selden — Farewell to Ox- 
ford — Recollections of Common rooms 154 

XXV. 

Chapel Royal, Savoy— St. Nicholas Cole Ab- 
bey — Mozart's Requiem — The Church Club 
— The Dominican Priory — Bach's mass in B 
Minor, Dvorak's Requiem - - 161 

XXVI. 

B B The drawing room — Old pictures 

The beautiful church — Peace after a long 
sermon — A country drive - - 174. 

XXVII. 

To Brighton — The University boat race — Visit 
to Cheyne Walk — The Thames to Charing 
Cross — St. Bartholomew's, Brighton — Palm 
Sunday — Good Friday — Fudi the Japanese 
—Easter day 180 

XXVIII. 

Last day in England — The mill — The moor — - 
The minster — Holyhead — Dublin 196 



Contents* 



XXIX. 

Resting in Ireland — The return voyage — Its 
pleasures — My fellow passengers — New 
York harbor — Landing — Once more with 
Dr Houghton - 203 

XXX. 

Getting home again — Strangeness of familiar 
things — Fifth Avenue and Broadway — 
Grace Church — The choir question — The 
new cathedral — St. Agnes — Zion and St. 
Timothy — General Theological Seminary 
— St. Peter's, Morristown - - 211 

XXXI. 

On the Limited for the West — The Hudson and 
the Catskills — Albany — Bishop Coxe — 
The night ride — The awakening — Lake 
Michigan — ■ Nearing the end — Chicago 
again — Business — The World's Fair — 
Church progress — Diocesan Convention — 
The End 223 



TO ENGLAND AND BACK I 

A 

WINTER VACATION. 



I. 



THE rain and the loneliness at 
Twenty-second Street station, as 
we waited for the Lake Shore train to 
take us off east from Chicago on Decem- 
ber 3d, exactly coincided with our feelings. 
Adieus had been all said, the past, like 
a great prairie, stretched out behind us, 
and it was just as well to be with one's 
own thoughts alone, as one looked out 
over such a vista of years. The lamps of 
Chicago seemed interminable; they lit up 
the Scene, even as the lights of memory 
lit up the past. 

A night's ride brought us to Cleveland, 
where we stayed over until Sunday after- 
noon, the guest of the Rev. T. C. Foote, 
13 



i4 Co <£nslan* anti ISacfc. 

who has charge of St. James' church in 
that city. On Saturday we called on dear 
Dr. Bolles, who received us with a loving 
kiss and gave us his patriarchal blessing 
as we left his venerable presence. What 
Church memories crowd up as one con- 
verses with such a man: Crosswell, De 
L.ancey, the elder Doane, the Advent, 
Boston, choral services, free churches, the 
pioneer struggles for Church principles 
for over fifty years past. We saw some 
of the fruits of such labor in St. James' 
church, where we ministered next day. 
An early Celebration at which we offici- 
ated was a refreshment to our souls, and 
the children's Eucharist fully choral at 
9:30, at which the rector, Rev. T. C. 
Foote, celebrated, was beautiful in its 
teaching power and reverent rendering. 

Monday morning found us in New 
York, the guest of Dr. Houghton, at the 
Transfiguration. What a haven of rest 
is this secluded but ever-busy nook in the 
turmoil of New York life! After Matins 
we went for steamer tickets and letter of 
credit to Wall Street, and, in turning into 
Trinity, as our custom is, we found a lec- 
ture, the first of a week's course, an- 



Co (Snglanfi antr 33acfc. 



nounced to be given at noon by Dr. Hol- 
land of St. Louis. The rain had followed 
us from Chicago, but it did not deter a 
goodly number from attending the lecture. 
Sharp on the stroke of twelve Dr. Hol- 
land entered the pulpit, while a few chor- 
ister boys in cassocks, one of the assistants 
of Trinity and Bishop Potter took their 
places in the stalls, a hymn was sung, and 
then, after a few collects and the Lord's 
Prayer, Dr. Holland began a discourse of 
marked brilliancy, lasting close on the 
hour; a collect or two at the close, and 
the blessing by the Bishop, concluded the 
service. There was a delicious freshness 
in the Doctor's manner, and a certain 
freedom of illustration, coupled with keen 
metaphysical insight, which aroused and 
retained attention all through. 

Night found us at the seminary, renew- 
ing old memories and interweaving the 
past with the present, in the study of 
Prof. Richey, whom we found well and 
happy, and promising us before long a 
new volume of his valuable work on the 
parables of our Lord. 

New York was in all its glory, winter 
though it was; so, the next day, under 



16 Co t£nglanti anfc ISacfc. 

bright skies, we took in the inimitable 
beauty of Fifth Avenue from Twenty- 
third Street to the Park. It is extensive 
enough to have a vista like a mountain 
gorge; whichever way you look it has 
a charm and a character all its own. It 
finds a fitting close in Central Park, where 
lace -like, bare trees, dark pines and green 
grass made a picture of rare beauty. No 
wonder New Yorkers love New York. 

In my many calls that day, perhaps in 
a Churchly way the most interesting thing 
to record was a magnificent pyx for tak- 
ing the sacrament to the sick, which a 
clergyman showed me. It was solid gold, 
over two inches in circumference, set with 
emeralds, pearls and diamonds, of real 
beauty and excellent taste, and at a low 
estimation, was valued at four thousand 
five hundred dollars. 

Wednesday, December 9th, found us at 
10:30 a. m., on the steamship " Germanic," 
ready for the big ferry across the Atlantic, 
but before that hour we had the loving 
comfort of Celebration, receiving from 
the hand of Father Prescott at the Trans- 
figuration; we had Matins and Litany, at 
which Dr. Houghton officiated, and had 



Co (England anti ^Baclt* 



his loving farewell as we left his door for 
the steamer. 

Soon the time for all to go ashore came 
around, a few loving friends lingered to 
say to us a last adieu; out into the stream 
we pushed, and then out to sea. 



'Germanic'" December, i8qi. 



18 Co <£ngianti anti ISacfe, 



II. 



FROM my experience in the "Ger- 
manic," in this month of December, 
1 89 1, I should certainly argue that winter 
is the best time to cross the Atlantic. We 
have had smooth seas, bright skies, clear 
weather, a cheerful, happy company, and 
no crowding. All these are advantages 
which I found absent on summer trips. 
Of course, we have had some severe rolls 
of the vessel and some seasickness, and a 
little discomfort to some passengers, but 
" I have not lost a meal," seasickness has 
not come near me. I have a psychical 
iormula for its cure, which is this: Culti- 
vate the Unconscious Automatic Equi- 
librium. Where put in practice, it never 
fails of effect. It is based upon the truth 
that we only know that which we are 
unconscious of knowing, and so when 
equilibrium becomes unconsciously auto- 
matic, we have our sea legs and are sea- 
sick proof. The mental effort to commit 



Co <&nglanti an* ISacfc. 19 

the formula to memory is the first step in 
the cure. It diverts attention from inter- 
nal disturbances and then the braced-up 
being can begin unimpeded the Cultiva- 
tion of the Unconscious Automatic Equi- 
librium. It may be as well to add to this 
a practical hint, to keep the knee and 
ankle joints perfectly limber, to realize 
that the horizon of the ocean is immov- 
able as solid earth, and to consider motion 
in all objects but one's self, the normal 
condition of environment in the ship. I 
have given this valuable formula to fellow- 
passengers, especially ladies, with never- 
failing effect. With two factors of stead- 
iness established — one's own well balanced 
brain and viscera, and the unswerving 
circle of the sea — then the incidental mo- 
tion of the ship will be soon as little re- 
garded as the motion of a good horse or the 
jolting of a carriage. The heaving deck 
will become a positive source of pleasure, 
and will lose all its fearful terrors. 

Our company in the saloon, in its 
chance gathering of units into the brief 
whole of an Atlantic voyage, had its 
never-failing interest. There were old 
travelers who had encircled the globe 



20 Co ©nglanti anft 33acft. 

again and again ; there were farmers from 
Manitoba and Oregon homeward bound 
once more for Christmas; there was the 
silent old lady, with a sorrow at her heart, 
which rumor told us was the dead body 
of her daughter, also on board, on its 
silent journey from Colorado to an Eng- 
lish churchyard; there were Americans, 
bound for the South of France for needed 
rest, and so on and on. After some days 
out, an old gentleman spoke to me; he 
was from a town in Illinois, near Chicago, 
and knew the C — s and the D — s and Mr. 
S — , and Church life in Illinois for forty- 
five years past. The first man I met on 
board was from Chicago, and so, ere long, 
we were all like a big family. 

But oh, how lovely the sea was! One 
evening it was all slate color and purple, 
with yellow lights on the waves, caught 
from the pale sunset. One night it was 
steel-blue, plumed with silver-feathered 
waves, dancing in the bright moonlight. 
In the sky were soft masses of bright 
white clouds, with great star lit spaces of 
clear, open sky. It was a glory to walk 
the deck on such a night. 

One need never weary at sea, if there 



&o ©ttglantj atttj iSack. 21 

is an eye for color and a heart for beauty. 
If nothing else, there is the encircling 
perfect curve of the horizon; but, through 
this mystic circle the dolphins play and 
the whales send up their spray and grace- 
ful gulls float about us. It is all color, 
motion, never 'ceasing variety. 

Sailors consider it a lucky omen to 
have one parson on board; more than 
this, it is said, brings bad luck, so it was 
my fortune to be all alone in this capacity 
and to take the services on Sunday. 

We had our reverent worship in the 
saloon, with the old familiar English 
Prayer Book and Hymns Ancient and 
Modern. A young lady from Manitoba, 
played the hymns and all joined heartily 
in their singing. There is something 
always touching in the sound of human 
voices on the sea, as they are lifted in the 
songs of home or of heaven. Our hymns 
had the pathos which ever pertains to 
such conditions. I shall not soon forget 
our congregation of that day; close by 
was a leading actress from a London 
theatre with some of her people devoutly 
joining; in front was my old friend from 
near Chicago, though I did not know 



22 Co <£nglantt ana Bacfe. 

then who he was ; not far off was a young 
mother from far northwestern Canada, 
with her little boy, a dream of beauty and 
as good as gold. She told me that she 
had traveled fifty miles to have him bap- 
tized "in church," as she said with proper 
emphasis. 

Although a sermon is not usually ex- 
pected or encouraged at sea, yet I ven- 
tured a few words, taking as my theme 
the verse of the psalm, " They that go 
down to the sea in ships," etc. My 
theme was the sea a revealer of God, and 
the ship a teacher of human duty to God 
and to our neighbor. The sea revealed 
God — in its infinity — as being the source 
of life — as being changeless under appar- 
ent change. The ship taught liberty of 
will within prescribed limits; obedience 
to constituted authority and the united 
interest of all humanity. Brevity had to 
be studied. After the service the purser 
said it was all right and so all were 
pleased. In another Sunday we shall all 
be scattered, never perhaps to meet again; 
soon land will be reached and our voyage 
will come to an end. 

At Sea, December ij, iSgi. 



Co <£nglaniJ anfi $3acfc. 23 



III. 



MY first .Sunday in the old land was 
bright and beautiful, not a breath 
of air stirring and a delicious tender sky 
with fleecy clouds hung over all. It was 
hard to think the balmy air was in Decem- 
ber weather. A brisk walk from Black- 
rock brought us through part of Cork to 
the splendid cathedral of St. Finn Bar, 
This is a graceful structure with three 
massive stone spires. It is from a design 
by Burgess and is more Norman than 
Gothic in appearance, having a decidedly 
foreign air, unlike the English ideal. 
One of the chief charms of the interior 
is that from no point can you see the 
entire extent. There is always something 
unseen and beyond. 

The service happened to be an ordina- 
tion. There were two candidates for the 
diaconate and four for the priesthood. 
Matins were sung with full choir and 
with good effect. The boys' voices were 



24 Co <£nglantJ an* ISadt* 

well trained in a soft, delicate manner, 
and the general effect was tender and 
sympathetic, but all was taken in such a 
high pitch and with such rapidity that 
congregational participation was out of 
the question. One or two conscientious 
individuals near me were doing their best 
to join in, utterly unconscious of the ludi- 
crous effect of a man full grown, singing 
off the Confession in a high falsetto man- 
ner. All around was silence except from 
those few absurd attempts to make the 
people's part a reality with vocal expres- 
sion. A low pitch for Confession and all 
the opening part of the service, with the 
plain song in unison by choir and people, 
would make all right and vastly popular- 
ize the choral service. 

Matins over a fine sermon was preached 
by Dean Warren, on the text, " Sanctify 
them through Thy truth." Its aim was 
to show the importance of a consecrated 
ministry and its work in this present 
world. It led up to the sacramental idea, 
but did not express it or even allude to it. 

The alms of the people were at this 
point collected and offered, and thereupon, 
until the close of the service, the people 



&o <£nglanfc an* ISacIt* 25 

kept dribbling out of the church. First, 
the choir left in a. body, and then without 
note of music or any adjunct whatever, 
suggesting the greater solemnities, the 
services of ordination and the Holy 
Eucharist were proceeded with. 

After the, eloquent sermon by the 
Dean and the emphasis he put upon the 
ministry and its work, it seemed a strange 
thing to put the conferring of such a dig- 
nity and the exercise of its greatest power 
in such a corner. 

The dribble of the congregation went 
on and on until at the close about fourteen 
people remained in the church outside of 
the clergy. It was hopeful to hear the 
clear Catholic ring of the Ordinal, which 
fortunately (providentially, rather, one 
should write) has received none of the 
damaging changes sustained by other 
portions of the Prayer Book of the Church 
of Ireland. 

A young Irish friend with me heard 
with astonishment the words : " Whose 
sins thou dost forgive, they are forgiven, 
and whose sins thou dost retain, they 
are retained." He had never seen an 
ordination before, he had heard the priest- 



26 Co ©nglanti anfc ISacft, 

hood denied, he did not know such words 
were in the book, he never knew that the 
priesthood in the church of Ireland was 
thus asserted and as clearly conveyed. To 
judge of the effect upon my young friend, 
it seemed a pity that such a teaching rite 
was administered in an emptied church. 

The afternoon was spent in lovely 
walks through woods and fields, watching 
the pearly tints of the setting sun. A 
landscape, beautiful as Italy, stretched 
before us, tall pines rising above the elms 
and beeches suggested the summer land; 
neither was the sentiment arising from 
the decay of ancient splendor absent, for 
we had our walk through the unoccupied 
park of a vast deserted mansion. We 
had rambled through its halls and corri- 
dors, climbed its marble staircase, entered 
the great silent ballroom, and traversed 
the tumble-down conservatory, where a 
passion flower still trailed its pathetic ten- 
drils, and a Virginia creeper was even yet 
bravely in bloom. How sad it all was, 
yet the view from the windows over the 
Lee was like Tivoli, the mirth and grace 
of human life had all passed away. What 
will the new order bring? 



Co <£nglantr anfc ISacft. 27 

The new order in the Church prom- 
ises something at least; neatness, order, 
interest, all indicate progress. At the 
cathedral the Dean gave out notice of a 
first Celebration at seven, Christmas 
morning, a second Celebration, choral, at 
eight, and ch6ral Matins and sermon by 
the Lord Bishop at 1 1 130 A. m. I wish I 
could be present, but I must be among 
my own kindred in the rural parish 
where they dwell, where also are the 
graves of a household. 

At night we worshipped in the church 
at Blackrock. The singing was quite 
fair from a choir of men and women, the 
congregation though thin, was devout, 
and the sermon, if not eloquent, was 
earnest and helpful. The stars lit us 
home through the windings of the way 
which here and there resounded with 
songs whose refrains reminded us that 
we were within the range of that inex- 
plicable relation, Irish politics. 

Golden Terrace, Blackrock, 
December 27, i8gi. 



28 Co ©nglanfc anti 33ack. 



IV. 



PERHAPS you would like to know 
how I spent my Christmas Day in 
Ireland. Come with me, then, as we 
drive through eight miles of water- 
soaked country under a cloudy sky to 
Kilmallock. Do not suppose, however, 
that the drive is unpleasant. Far from it. 
The fields are green, the air is mild, cat- 
tle are in the pastures, and the occasional 
song of a bird is heard. 

The winding road brings us at last in 
sight of the town. It lies among mead- 



ows through which flows in graceful 
curves, a river whose poetical Celtic name 
is Lubach or The Dawn. Within the 
embrace of this flood stands an ancient 
ruin, once the happy home of Domini- 
cans. The Irish Archaeological Society 
has recently put it in some order, and the 
graceful lancet window's and unroofed 
nave, aisles, choir, and great square tower 
look interesting and picturesque. Not far 



Co <£ttglantr ant* SSacfc. 29 

off is one of the ancient gates of the 
town, under which, in days of old, many 
an armed band entered with booty or 
passed forth to war. It is now in better 
tise, being occupied by a school. Within 
the town is another ruin, the ancient 
church of SS. Peter and Paul. It has 
nave and aisles and chapels, and one of 
Ireland's famous round towers; all open 
to the sky, and embowered in luxurious 
ivy. The choir of this ancient church is 
rcofed in and fitted for divine service. 
The sweet-toned bell was ringing out 
from the round tower, still used as a 
belfry, as we entered. We found the 
services fairly rendered. The hymns were 
the familiar Adeste Fideles and " Hark, 
the herald angels sing." The chants of 
Matins were also sung, the choir, consist- 
ing of ladies and gentlemen, giving them 
with great sweetness. But here too, as 
elsewhere in Ireland, not a note of music 
was used in the celebration, and the same 
sad exodus took place, eight or ten re- 
mained for the Holy Eucharist, all the 
rest departed. We noticed that in the 
Irish Prayer Book the eastward position 
is prohibited, and the clergyman is for- 



30 Co <£nglanti antJ fSacfc. 

bidden, while offering prayer, to turn his 
back upon the people. The effect of this 
in the conduct of the service, seems 
strangely irreverent to one accustomed to 
our American ways. Crosses over the 
altar, or anywhere in the church, we 
found also explicitly prohibited. How 
strange! in the Church of St. Patrick, 
and in a land whose most dignified mon- 
uments are the existing crosses of the 
ancient Irish Church! 

We had in the service an excellent 
sermon, delivered without manuscript, 
from the rector. His red hood declared 
him to be a D. D. from Trinity College, 
Dublin. It was from the text: "What 
think ye of Christ ? " It was an appeal 
for fullness of knowledge as to the verit- 
able Manhood and Godhead of our 
Blessed Lord. It lacked the practical 
application whieh might be given, by 
pointing out how access to that Manhood 
and to that Godhead might now be had 
through the Blessed Sacraments; but it 
may seem ungracious thus to criticise. 
Perhaps the art of the sermon was in 
permitting the hearer to make this appli- 
cation, silently, for himself. 



Co ©nglanti antr $3acfe, 31 

The ancient choir thus fitted up for 
worship presented a plain appearance. 
There was some Christmas decoration of 
the traditional holly and ivy, and a holly 
wreath, suggesting by its very circle, a 
traversing cross, hung over the Holy 
Table. The most beautiful thing in the 
church was the graceful five-lancet win- 
dow in the east end, a relic of past ages. 
The whole place was devoid of orna- 
ment, except the mural tablets to departed 
social greatness, but this five-light lancet 
window shed over all a tone of solemnity 
and distinction. 

As we left the church, groups of 
eager-looking lads and lasses lined the 
way at each side, evidently expecting 
something. What this was, we soon 
learned when we saw the rector scatter- 
ing coppers among them for an indis- 
criminate scramble. There was fun and 
shouting from the merry group, during 
which we mounted our trap and drove 
home to a happy fireside and pleasant 
cheer, having on the whole a very happy 
Christmas Day in Ireland. 

Adamstown, Knocklong, 
December jo, i8gi. 



32 Co <£nglanti anti ISacfL 



MY little visit to Dublin had some 
points of Church interest. My 
Sunday was spent there, and coincided 
with the general excitement caused by 
the lamented death of Prince Albert Vic- 
tor, Duke of Clarence and Avondale. I 
went to St. Bartholomew's at eleven 
o'clock, and found a most refreshing 
service. The church is beautiful, a gothic 
structure well put together, with a pecu- 
liar arrangement of the transepts, each of 
which is composed of two bays, placed 
side by side, with supporting pillars 
between the two. This gives space and 
variety, and does away with the necessity 
of the expensive construction of roof 
where the transepts are built as high as 
the nave. By the church is a commodious 
church hall, and yet again near that, a 
fair vicarage $ church and all enclosed in 
one garden. 

The chancel was well furnished, need- 



Co ©ngianti anti ISacfe. 33 

ing only the lights; the service was fully 
choral, Matins and Celebration; the boys* 
voices were of surpassing sweetness, and 
the music was reverently done ; care was 
shown in ever} 7 detail, the Gregorian 
chanting of the Psalter being as tenderly 
done as the most elaborate part of the 
service. How good it was to be one of 
such a worshipping congregation ! There 
seemed to be no fear of external rever- 
ence, and one could see here and there 
the use of the sacred sign. We had a ser- 
mon on the Marriage in Cana of Galilee, 
a clear, out-spoken Catholic sermon, with 
no uncertain sound. I must mention a 
point the preacher made which occurred 
to myself when studying the miracle. It 
was this, that there is no reason why we 
should conclude that all the water in the 
waterpots was turned into wine. The 
letter would imply that only the water 
which was drawn out was thus miracu- 
lously changed. I remember seeing a 
picture once where this idea was depicted 
as the water from one of the vessels was 
being poured into that in the hands of 
the servant, the curving stream in the 
descent showed the charf^e from the 



34 Co <£ttglanti an* iSacft* 

clear water to the ruddy wine. The rev- 
erent awe on the faces of the servants 
gave comment to the wonder. 

As I followed the service, I saw how 
impossible it is by repressive rubric to hin- 
der the outcome of truth. The preacher 
was also Celebrant, and even if he had 
not referred in his sermon to the Real 
Presence, one would have known his 
faith to see him at the altar. It was in- 
deed a delight to be at St. Bartholo- 
mew's, Dublin. 

In the afternoon we went to St. Pat- 
rick's. How pathetic it is to enter such 
a place. The traditions of Church and 
State still linger there. The banners of 
the knights hang down over the stalls 
in the choir with the helmets and swords 
of chivalry, but how different all was 
from the tone at St. Bartholomew's! 

The choir had about it all, a sort of 
sturdy, honest irreligiousness. They came 
in, eyes all about them. They took their 
places and lolled about bravely. They 
sang well and lustily. That they should 
sing was evidently the reason, and the 
prime reason, of their being there. So it 
went. 



Co <£nglantj anti 2Sack. 35 

The organ was gloriously played by 
Sir Robert Stewart, sympathetic to the 
last degree. His improvisation at the 
commencement of service was masterly ; 
at first a few notes; then a gradual in- 
crease until the majestic organ throbbed 
with life under his facile hands. All 
round him through the service were 
young men who hung upon his every 
action, and helped him con amore with 
the stops. Beautiful it was, like a father 
with his children, but there was danger 
in it too, for at times, proceedings which 
might not be really so, looked like indif- 
ference or irreverence. What musician 
is there that does not know the dangers 
which lurk about an organ keyboard dur- 
ing divine service. 

The Psalms were splendidly chanted 
to florid chants: such a contrast to the use 
of St. Bartholomew, where the psalter 
stood out in most impressive simplicity. 
One does not care particularly for the 
words in such rapturous harmonies, but 
in the simple style, the words are every- 
thing. The service was Stewart, full of 
melody, one anthem was by Spohr, and 
the second the grand old composition by 



36 Co ©nglanto anti 3SaclL 

Blow, " I beheld, and lo, a great multi- 
tude." I had not heard it for many and 
many a year, but fresh and vivid and pic- 
turesque it was as ever. The tenor solo, 
" These are they," was especially touch- 
ing. I fear it might be considered tedi- 
ous nowadays, I mean the anthem as a 
whole. For American use, some of its 
involved verse parts might be cut out. 
Enough is left of simple grandeur and 
effective music to make a most impressive 
addition to choir music. 

The whole service was a grand one. 
The crowded church, the aged and ven- 
erable clergy, and the eloquent sermon 
with loyal allusion in pathetic phrases to 
the great sorrow known to all, made a 
magnificent whole. It was too dark and 
too late to visit the tomb of Swift and the 
well of St. Patrick, which still bubbles 
up within the church. Indeed, it was 
hard to move out of the building, for the 
great congregation at the close of ser- 
vice surged up into the choir to pass by 
the organ and organist as the Dead 
March, from Saul, gave forth its solemn 
strains. 



Co t&najanti anti 13acfc. 37 

Through the crowded streets we 
walked to the Shelbourne, where the 
evening was spent in pleasant converse 
about Chicago friends and others. It 
came about this way: I noticed at the 
table d^hote a gentleman whom I thought 
must be an American. He had a certain 
quick way about him, alert and keen. He 
nervously wiped his plate off once with 
his napkin. He seemed to be wide awake 
all over, he took the little bit of ice cream 
they give you on this side, in a bite or 
two, and asked for more; so, at the first 
opportunity, I bowed to him, feeling he 
must be an American. I was mistaken. 
When I entered the reading room after 
dinner on Sunday night, he bowed to me, 
opened a conversation at once, and when 
he heard of Chicago, he surprised me 
further by saying : " I heard a grand ser- 
mon on Atheism once, from your Bishop 
out there, when he was visiting Bermuda, 
where I was stationed with my regi- 
ment." So there was, after all, a link 
between us. 

What a talk we had there. I hoj3e I 
talked "wiser than I knew," for in that 



38 Co ©nglanfc aritt 2$acit. 

little group by the fire in the Dublin inn, 
were gone over all manner of questions 
relating to American affairs, religious, 
social, political, and prospective. 
Dublin, January 18, i8q2. 



Co ©nglantJ anti $5ac&. 39 



VI. 



AFTER leaving Dublin, my next 
point was near Newry, at the 
hospitable home of my friend, the rector 
of Donaghmore. Years had elapsed since 
we walked together as friends in Chi- 
cago, but bright and fresh was the cheery 
voice which greeted us on the railway 
platform at Goraghwood, where we got 
off our train. 

The snow lingered here and there, as 
we drove four miles over hill and dale to 
our destination, the way enlivened by 
many a question of places and friends at 
the other side. How lovely are such 
meetings of friends ; tinged they must be 
with a certain tone of sadness, for years 
have flown, and changes have come, and 
friends are spoken of who cannot answer 
ever here on earth again: Adsum! 

The Rev. Mr. Cowan showed us the 
grey outside of his church, with its tall 
square tower in the dim light of evening, 



4° Co <£ttfllanfc aufc iSacfe* 

and soon thereafter we were within the 
warm walls of the rectory, and could 
enjoy the clamor of the crows outside in 
the swaying tree tops. Our good friend 
was a little solicitous about our comfort 
in our room, and suggested for us a fire, 
* l but," said he, " I shall have to get a 
crow's nest dug out of the chimney first." 
Well, of course 1 could not be so selfish 
as to permit such an interesting domestic 
establishment to be uprooted for my lux- 
ury, so I did without the fire, and learned 
the knack of avoiding the sharp chill of 
linen sheets by sleeping boldly next the 
blankets. In the morning I felt no ill 
from the cold room — rather the reverse — 
helped too by the consciousness of not 
having dealt any cruelty to animals. 

I found Donaghmore church and 
graveyard a most interesting study. The 
church is on the site of an ancient found- 
ation of the Culdees, and the site itself, 
as well as some of the surrounding fields, 
contains many curious and extensive sub- 
terranean constructions. These interest- 
ing remains of either a warlike or ascetic 
use, were accidentally discovered in low- 



Co ^nglantj antJ $3acfe. 41 

ering the level of the road bed near the 
graveyard. At the same time portions of 
an ancient Celtic cross were also un- 
earthed, and through the pious care of 
the rector, aided by the enlightened and 
unprejudiced spirit of the parishioners, 
were reverently re-erected on their an- 
cient site close by the church. It was 
found that the main entrance to those 
underground passages and retreats was 
at the foot of the ancient cross. Here an 
opening was left, but strange to say, had 
to be closed up again, because of the 
offensive odors coming forth. Think of 
it, for over eight hundred years the 
stratum of earth above the excavation 
has been used for purposes of burial, 
hence the doleful foulness which finds 
escape into those hollow chambers of 
the past. Perhaps when our civiliza- 
tion has attained a period of three thou- 
sand years, and we are face to face in 
many places with those conditions of 
mortality, then cremation may not seem 
so dreadful or unnatural. Direct earth 
burial and displacement of bones after a 
certain number of years, as is the manner 



42 Co ©nglanti anti 3Sack. 

in France and other countries, seems an 
improvement on the reeking graveyards 
to be met with in these old lands. 

A few peaceful days passed too swiftly 
under the rectory roof. There were rides 
over the country, beautiful at all times. 
There was a lovely day at Dromantine, 
amid the glories of the pleasure grounds, 
even in winter a thing of beauty, the 
arboretum, the pinetum, the greenhouses, 
the old gardener, the older oaks and 
beeches, each grey and grizzled by many 
a winter, and then there was the splendid 
home, the ample cheer, and the hearty 
welcome. 

From Donaghmore I turned my steps 
to Belfast, whither I went with my good 
host, and had the privilege of attending a 
meeting of the clergy of the united dio- 
ceses of Down, Connor, and Dromore, 
convened for the purpose of passing reso- 
lutions of condolence and respect, in con- 
nection with the death of Prince Albert 
Victor. It was a splendid body of clergy, 
there are over two hundred in the united 
dioceses. It was beautiful to see the love 
and loyalty which found expression in 
every face, and in every word uttered. 



Co (^ttglanto anfc ISacfe. 43 

As I listened I thought of the wolf hound 
which art ever depicts couchant by the 
Irish harp. No harsh treatment can 
blunt the sense of truthful affection in 
such a noble creature, and so from the 
Irish Church, despoiled and betrayed as 
it has been, there ever comes the un- 
quenchable spirit of heartfelt loyalty. It 
was good to be there. Barring the pur- 
pose of the meeting I could almost fancy 
myself at a deanery meeting at home on 
an extended scale, and I thought too I 
could see parallels to some of my dear 
remembered friends. More than one 
good brother invited me to stay over and 
preach, but I was bound to be in London 
on the twenty-fourth, and to bring that 
about with ease I had to leave Greenore 
for Holyhead on Friday night. Of that 
journey I remember the gloomy turn-out 
at two in the morning at Holyhead, and 
the dreary wait in black Holyhead sta- 
tion until six. The fancy came to me in 
the stuffy damp atmosphere, that the air 
of England was breathed over and over 
too much, its very vitality exhausted, but 
possibly we make our own atmosphere, 
and my jaded condition made me a bad 



44 Co ©nglantr an* 13acft, 

judge. At last the train was made up, 
and in four or five hours we were whirled 
through a rain-sodden country into the 
heart of London. 

On the way there was much to see, 
but the best of all things were the Eng- 
lish themselves. What matters it, said I, 
should England cease to be an agricul- 
tural country, if she will only produce 
Englishmen, she will bring forth one of 
the noblest products of the earth. 

London, January 22, i8q2. 



Eo ©nglanti anti 13acfc* 45 



VII. 

I HA VE been to the Abbey this morn- 
ing, wandering down there leisurely, 
in time for 10 o'clock Matins. The sun, 
like a great ball of glistening copper, 
shone a distinct sphere through the dim 
atmosphere, and a rimy frost was under 
foot. On and on, by Westminster Bridge, 
by St. Margaret's, and into the Abbey 
by the restored transept entrance, with 
the beautiful new statue of the Holy 
Mother and her Divine Child adorning 
the same; one thinks of Laud and St. 
Mary's, Oxford, as, one enters. 

The Abbey is always impressive, the 
aspiring columns, the embowered roof, 
the luxuriant reverence of the fretted 
windows, lift one above the fretful im- 
pudence of the many monuments which 
too often encumber the glorious Minster. 
But we pass them all by now, and await 
in the choir the coming service. The 
stalls are all alight with candles protected 



46 Cjd (England antJ 13acft. 

by glass shades from the many draughts. 
Away on high, as one looks down the 
nave, glints of gold break in from out- 
side, while all else in the venerated space 
is lost in gloom; a few people are pres- 
ent, strangers, like myself, and others 
who, evidently, are constant comers. At 
last the silence is broken by a chanted 
Amen, the organ wakes up to its har- 
mony, the verger draws aside the cur- 
tains at the choir entrance, and choris- 
ters, precentor, canons, and dean, all take 
their places. There is no attempt at dis- 
play or form, a little more of which 
might take away from the straggling 
appearance of big boys and little boys, 
long surplices and short surplices, all 
placed and put on without any apparent 
thought of order or beauty. 

The service was sung to music of the 
old English school, contrapuntal, unsym- 
pathetic, and cold ; perhaps from this very 
reason more suitable to a choir of unim- 
passioned voices. The mechanical ictus 
of a musical figure is more capable of 
being well taken by an average boy, than 
any tender stress or expression which 
emotion and eood taste must understand 



2To <£nglanU anfc liSacft. 47 

and seize. I can readily believe that such 
rebounding mechanical music could be as 
interesting to a boy as a game of hand 
ball or cricket. It hardly suits, how- 
ever, the requirements of the heart. All 
was, of course, beautiful, and the voices 
harmonious, with a kind of prim pret- 
tiness in the sweet tones of the re- 
sponces floating under the lofty and time- 
worn arches. One's thoughts stretched 
back to other occupants of that choir, 
whose throats were lusty and strong 
with the sturdy song of Gregory, and 
whose members filled up every stall. 
Now we have dean and canons few, and a 
little double ribband of choristers filling in 
with white a few feet at each side in the 
splendid length of that matchless choir. 

The first Lesson was read by Canon 
Farrar. It was the pathetic story of 
Joseph sold by his brethren, and the 
" vesture dipped in blood " brought to the 
heart-broken Jacob. A touch of genuine 
pathos rang through the simple, dignified 
reading, and I was near enough to see a 
dimness in the eye as he uttered the 
words, " My son is not." It was beautiful. 

The second Lesson was read by the 



4§ Co <£ttglanti an* ISacfc* 

dean. It was the account of our Lord 
walking upon the water, and St. Peter's 
heroic desire to come to Him thereon. 
The tone was different, and the uncon- 
scious art not so effective as in Canon 
Farrar's reading, but both Lessons were 
the living effective part of the service 
from an emotional aspect. 

The anthem was a commonplace affair 
by Rogers, I think, nothing but a succes- 
sion of sounds on the words : " Ye that 
by night stand in the house of the Lord." 
Not quite the thing for Matins. Ah, if 
the pathos of first or second Lesson had 
been taken up in the anthem and empha- 
sized by the glory of good music, and 
that good choir, how well it would have 
been! It might have been the sorrow of 
Jacob, or the aspiring faith of Peter, or 
the assuring voice of Christ, but instead 
it was a selection without thought. 

The service over, I went once round 
the Abbey and the chapels clustered 
about the incomparable chapel of Henry 
the Seventh. What thoughts come as one 
goes from the shrine of the Confessor to 
that tomb of another Edward, which 
declares the stripling to be " Under 



Co (^nglantr antJ ISack. 49 

Christ, Head of the Church of England." 
It is all a pathetic jumble of fearful 
events. Elizabeth and Mary sleep side by 
side. Mary Stuart rests beyond. Here 
altars are torn away, and tombs of cour- 
tiers and kings, favorite ladies and war- 
riors, take the place of the saints. Watt, 
of steam-engine fame, in colossal marble, 
speaks of the new age amid the crum- 
bling monuments of ancient faith. Mrs. 
Siddons, in the grand air of a stage 
queen, stands where the altar stood in St. 
Michael's chapel. What a change! So 
it is on every hand. Above are the glo- 
rious arches which looked down on the 
ages of faith, around are the ashes of the 
holy dead, but encrusted over all is the 
pride and pomp of civil and political life. 
William Pitt dominates in marble the 
great entrance, while Fox continues ever 
dying near by, in colossal effigy. It is all 
a glorious pantheon of England's material 
greatness and achievement in controversy, 
statesmanship, war, research, letters, and 
arts. It makes the heart throb and the 
blood to tingle to wander under the sacred 
arches of Westminster, whether one 
thinks of the past or the present. 



5© Co ©ttgianti ana SSacfc. 

In a little enclosed space to the right 
of the main entrance, stands a monument 
and bust of Keble. It is a gem in de- 
sign, of jewelled marbles, enclosing the 
sweet face of the poet of the " Christian 
Year." Opposite are busts of Kingsley 
and Frederick Denison Maurice, but 
these are placed, not looking out to the 
altar, as Keble does, but looking the other 
way. I could not but fancy that the soul 
of Keble was thus looking out over the 
Abbey and the English Church, and 
waiting and hoping for better things. 
With slow steps I wandered on, over 
the graves of mighty men, out into the 
crowded thoroughfare, on by Downing 
street and the Horse Guards, by White- 
hall and Trafalgar Square, by Pall Mall 
and Regent street, until I found myself 
in the church of St. Thomas, where, in 
the silence of the sanctuary and the in- 
cense-laden atmosphere, I had a good 
pray and a good rest, in the stillness, after 
my week-day morning in the Abbey. 

London, January 23, i8g2. 



&o tfrttglanti anti ISacfe. 51 



VIII. 

WHEN one has only a few Sun- 
days in London, it is extremely 
difficult to choose just where to go. Well, 
on this occasion I gave myself dispensa- 
tion, and went on my first Sunday to the 
Brompton Oratory, to see what it was 
like; so soon too after Manning's death 
a certain feeling impelled me that pos- 
sibly there might have been some allu- 
sion to him. There was none, however. 
The Oratory is a beautiful structure in 
the style of St. Paul's, smaller, but much 
more ornate, gold and glitter is on every 
hand. At every convenient place in the 
graceful structure there is an altar, and 
each altar is fully decorated ; every cor- 
ner is utilized, even the dark space under 
the gallery, which holds the choir and 
organ, is turned into a gloomy Calvary, 
with the sacred Sufferer in a position of 
intense agony, the thieves in contortions 
on either side, and Mary and St. John at 



52 Co <&nglanfc antj <Bacft, 

either hand. The high altar has a grand 
effect, with a suspended baldachino sim- 
ulating in metal a rich tapestry. The use 
of so much gorgeous marble and gilt 
ornamentation might be called overdone, 
at least to our taste. Punctually at the 
stroke of eleven, the officiants entered, and 
the organ began. The whole service was 
marked by the most careful and graceful 
attention to detail, the vestments were 
never awry, all was spick and span, clean 
and neat, and well done. Italian it was 
in spirit and form, but it was done by 
Englishmen, and done perfectly. The 
acolytes were men and well trained, while 
priest, deacon, and sub-deacon showed in 
every movement, thought, reverence, and 
dignity. It was an object lesson in pro- 
priety, surely it was not out of place to 
be thus careful and absorbed in the wor- 
ship of God. My mind reverted to much 
elsewhere that was ever the reverse, 
where individual whim and untutored 
awkwardness marred obvious propriety. 
I was especially touched with the entire 
naturalness and fitness of the Kiss of 
Peace, given and received before the 
Communion of the priest. I wonder such 



Co <£nglanti artti ISaclt. 53 

an ancient, beautiful, and fitting symbol- 
ism has not been restored, as it easily 
might, to our own use. 

The music was exquisitely rendered. 
The choir of men and boys occupy a gal- 
lery well down in the nave, and are not 
seen. Hence all the necessary direction 
of a conductor can be used without dis- 
traction or any unedifying effect. I could 
see from where I sat, the incessant action 
which he kept over the music, minutely 
guiding every phrase. From this cause 
the Gregorian numbers were given with 
a tender delicacy and careful expression, 
quite surprising, and the more elaborate 
figured music of the Mass was rendered 
with positive passion. A. grand adult 
voice sang an offertory from Gounod. 

The sermon was a plain, straight-for- 
ward, teaching sermon upon Confession, 
based upon the words of the Gospel, 
" Lord, if Thou w T ilt, Thou canst make 
me clean." The church was quite well 
filled, and the congregation seemed decid- 
edly English. The Italian mission, as 
Archbishop Benson calls the Roman 
Church in England, is but a small thing 
compared to the great Church of the 



54 Co ©nglanti anfc SSacfc* 

land. I felt this as I stood a few hours 
later under the dome of St. Paul's, and 
heard and saw that vast congregation 
heartily joining and intelligently joining, 
in the psalms, and prayers, and hymns. 
I felt too, that, as one day is with the 
Lord as a thousand years, and a thousand 
years as one day, so in His good Provi- 
dence there may be work for both 
Churches to do for each other, until that 
time shall come " that they all may be 
one." There is a vast movement going 
on among all Christians, which is filled 
with a purpose we may not dare to limit, 
or to measure. " Yes," I heard a gentle- 
man of a clerical cut say to another of 
like appearance, one week-day in St. 
Paul's, " a great revolution in opinion and 
practice is passing over the Presbyterians 
in England and Scotland." " Yes," said 
the other, " we find the same in Amer- 
ica." They were two Presbyterian min- 
isters comparing notes under the dome of 
St. Paul's, and before the reredos, with 
the carven Christ, His Blessed Mother, 
and the saints thereon. " That they may 
be one!" 

Canon Scott Holland was the preacher. 



Co ©nglanti anfc iSacfe. 55 

It was a delight to watch his intent, 
clear face, and listen to his impassioned, 
grandly delivered sermon. Of every 
service at St. Paul's one can only repeat 
phrases of praise. This was as all the 
rest, splendid. 

London, January 24, i8g2. 



56 Co <£nglanfc anti $3acfL 



IX. 



IT was my good fortune to be present 
at the patronal festival of St. Paul's 
cathedral. At ten o'clock we had Matins 
and High Celebration, Canon Scott Hol- 
land being Celebrant. It was a glorious 
function. The service was sung by the 
ordinary choir, augmented in the Com- 
munion service by a full orchestra. The 
Mass was Weber in E flat. I was some- 
what curious to hear such music, thus 
rendered. The general impression was 
good, the orchestra giving life and ex- 
pression to the boys' voices. In all the 
massive choral effects, it was most devo- 
tional; but such music illustrates the ex- 
treme difficulty of reaching that very lit- 
tle which constitutes perfection, or the 
tolerated approach thereto. I wish I 
could remember what Browning says on 
this matter, but I am away from books, 
and cannot call it to mind. Those who 



Co ©nglano ano i<3adt. 57 

know will remember, and those who do 
not know will never mind. 

When Matins were over, I wish you 
could exjDerience the effect of the sudden 
burst of orchestral music from the hidden 
instrumentalists, as they played the pre- 
lude to the Introit, Baden Powell's "Hail, 
Festal Day." ' It gave me a choking sen- 
sation of happiness and inspiration. The 
service, Weber in E flat, adapted to 
Anglican use, and omitting Benedictus 
and Agnus Dei, was then sung. One 
must confess that in the fugal work, and 
in the solo soprano parts, there was some 
weakness, but this arose more from the 
character of the music, which was never 
written for boys' voices, than from any 
want of skill in the choristers. The won- 
der is they did so well, without the guid- 
ance of a baton and the prompting of a 
conductor. A Salutaris Hostia, by Gou- 
nod, was sung after Consecration, in Eng- 
lish of course, and was most inspiring. 
Why, I could not help asking, should such 
difficult music be sung while kneeling? 
It is an added strain upon the choristers, 
which is not required. The people kneel, 
but, according to ancient custom, the choir 



58 Co ©KQlanti an* SSacfc. 

should stand at all times when singing, 
except in Requiems, at the Agnus Dei, 
and on a few special occasions of peni- 
tence. For the sake of the teaching, a 
hymn of adoration, to very simple music, 
might be sung kneeling, but to sing elab- 
orate Mass music in Sanctus, Benedictus, 
and Agnus Dei, on one's knees, makes 
a difficult thing still more difficult, and 
needlessly so. 

Taking the service as a whole, the 
most perfect vocalization was in the sev- 
enfold Amen of Sir John Stainer, sung 
after Consecration and the Blessing. One 
might wish that he never should hear it 
anywhere else, except in St. Paul's, Lon- 
don, for it would seem that there only are 
its rapturous cadences to be heard in per- 
fection. 

I must add about the service, that the 
altar lights were lit, and that there was no 
pause after the prayer for Christ's Church 
Militant; no withdrawal of the people at 
that point; and that the vergers seemed 
to limit the number of communicants. 
This great service and grand congrega- 
tion was but the prelude to the popular 
and splendid function at four o'clock, 



Co ©nglanti anfi iSack. 59 

when Evensong and the larger portion of 
Mendelssohn's St. Paul was rendered by 
a body of four hundred voices and a 
full orchestra. 

I had the good fortune to find a spe- 
cial nook of vantage near the choir, by 
the kindness of one of old St. Paul's boys 
whom I met, and so I could see the quiet 
way in which that large body of singers 
took their places, instrumentalists and all. 
These, arrayed, it must be confessed, in 
rather Falstaffian surplices, of bedgown 
shape and ancient hue, some of them, 
dropped into their places by twos and 
threes as they got ready; after them, the 
vast body of bass voices at one side, and 
the tenors at the other, then the boys 
from the Chapel Royal, Westminster, and 
elsewhere. All seated, the regular choir 
of St. Paul's and the clergy entered the 
stalls. There was no attempt at proces- 
sional singing, and the quiet of the ar- 
rangement made amends for the omission, 
if such it was. When the officiating 
clergy reached their places, the whole 
vast congregation, filling the enormous 
spaces of St. Paul's, rose to their feet, all 
knelt for the moment of silent prayer, 



60 Co ©nglantr anti 28ack. 

and then, with this most impressive pre- 
lude, the service went on. The Psalms 
were special, and sung by the regular 
choir alone, all the voices in a thunderous 
unison coming in with full organ and 
orchestra on each Gloria Patri. Oh, 
how glorious and thrilling it was! One 
would listen to the tender harmonies of 
the perfect chanting, and await with a 
pleasure which was almost a pain, the 
mighty crash of voices, organ and orches- 
tra. All evidently did not feel the artistic 
effect of this prepared contrast as I did, 
for over the congregation could be heard 
the sot to voce murmuring of the people 
as they joined the choir while chanting 
the familiar Psalms they had learned to 
love. How much there is in this learn- 
ing to love the Psalms, and this, in a 
most marked way, is the privilege of the 
Anglican Church. The Magnificat and 
Nunc Dimittis were by Martin, in A. 
The composer himself, the talented suc- 
cessor of Sir John Stainer at the organ 
of St. Paul's, conducted them and the 
rest of the service from an estrade in the 
centre, but concealed somewhat from the 
people by the huge lectern. He was most 



Eo ©nglanti anti Back. 61 

reverent and devout in his every act, and 
my heart quite went out to him as he 
knelt down for the versicles and prayers, 
conducting in that attitude with effect and 
dignity every cadence and amen. 

But now the third collect is ended and 
the solemn music begins. All are seated, 
and the overture to St. Paul is rendered 
by the orchestra, then follows without 
break or pause, that portion of the ora- 
torio from the conversion to the final 
chorus. I never heard before such sing- 
ing of the duet, " Now we are ambassa- 
dors," or the air, " O God, have mercy," 
or the grand choruses, " How great is the 
depth," and all the others in that portion 
of the composition. There was not the 
slightest flavor of the concert room. It 
was religious, through and through, and 
every singer seemed to know the music 
as one does " Old Hundred." So there 
was a fervor, a subdued power which con- 
scious power can alone give. No fuss, no 
strain, no effort, but reverent, good, hon- 
est, loving singing. I have heard our own 
societies sing in the Auditorium, and I am 
still proud of such a Chicago develop- 
ment, but it was artificial ; I must even say 



62 &o ©nglantJ antJ 13acfc. 

it sounded commonplace, when compared 
to the effect of the music at this festival 
at St. Paul's. The Auditorium, the 
singers in evening dress, the varied cos- 
tumes of the ladies, the orchestra en evi- 
dence, the people in their paid-for places, 
the applause — how different from the 
damp-stained walls of St. Paul's, the 
lofty dome, the memories of centuries, the 
vast body of all sorts and conditions of men 
in the gloomy, half-lit spaces of the vast 
cathedral, the constant reverent silence, 
the great choir and orchestra in one mass 
of white, the vested bishop and many dig- 
nitaries, and the great altar of St. Paul's 
— a dominating mystic presence over all, 
with its lights aflame — made up a picture 
and an effect not easily forgotten. 

And all this in London, in the heart 
of the world's trade, in the very court of 
Mammon — all this, all this! I thought 
and wondered if we shall ever have in 
Chicago such a glorious structure as St. 
Paul's, and such a gathering on the festi- 
val of the Conversion of the Apostle to 
the Gentiles. Confident I am that such 
a possibility would be the only fitting 
crown of glory for the future London of 



Eo ©nglanti anti $3acft, 6s 

our mighty West, an assertion of spiritual 
reality arising out of and consecrating 
all material greatness. 

I stood outside and watched the vast 
congregation melt away into the wonder- 
ful, ever more wonderful, London life. 
The soot-stained columns of St. Paul's 
looked grandly down, subliming the very 
filth of London; above were the clang- 
ing peals, more touching to me than 
Wagner's bells in " Parsifal," for they 
sounded not upon a mimic stage, but in 
the very heart of all modern life, telling 
of a Holy Grail which each must, if he 
would truly live, forever seek. St. Paul's 
words remain: " God forbid that I 
should glory save in the Cross of our 
Lord Jesus Christ, by which the world is 
crucified unto me, and I unto the world." 
What, if when one passes out of this great 
gathering and sees before his eyes again, 
want and vice, as see them he will, God 
has witness in all things, and the cross 
which dominates from the top of St. 
Paul's is symbol of the triumph which 
the Cross will surely bring — and so the 
Festival for me closes. 

London, January 23, i8q2. 



64 Co ©nglanti anti 33acfc. 



X. 



WHAT contrasts may come to one 
in London in the ordinary inci- 
dents of an unpremeditated stroll! After 
breakfast I went to the National Gallery 
and there feasted my eyes on one of the 
best collections of pictures in Europe. It 
is all free as air, and every picture plainly 
marked, so that all may understand as 
they go along. It would be tedious to 
detail this or that picture, and many of 
them are so well known by print and 
photograph, that it is like seeing an old 
friend in a magnificent new dress when 
one comes on the great original in this 
wonderful gallery. Why, one exclaims, 
there is Landseer's " High and Low 
Life," there is his " Dignity and Impu- 
dence," there is one of Constable's great 
landscapes, there is the Hobbema we have 
learned to love in etchings, there is 
Frith's " Derby Day," and there are 
Turner's glorious dreams of beauty and 



Co (£ttglanfc anti ISarfc. 65 

mystery, the " Old Temeraire," and the 
u Landing of the Prince of Orange," and 
so with all the old friends of friends of 
art, Etty, and Mulready, and Maclise and 
others without number. But all this is 
but a moiety of what is yet beyond and 
beyond. Raphael's incomparable Madon- 
nas, Botticelli's truthful and reverential 
creations — there they all are, gleaming 
welcome to our satiated eyes — Titian, 
Francia, Orcagna, all royal names in art, 
until we come to their worthy peer, Ros- 
setti's Annunciation. What a pity it is 
that one will get tired in a picture gal- 
lery, but tire you will, from the very 
glory of the place, so one leaves with a 
painful, weary sense of almost disrespect- 
ful regard for all that is left behind un- 
known and unlooked at. 

Go, one must, but ere I went I deter- 
mined to give one look at least at the 
Turner drawings. When I was last in 
London, they were housed in a dark 
basement, and half hidden in cabinets, but 
now they have a bright lodgement in 
many well-lighted rooms, and all are 
framed upon the spacious walls, and well 
they deserve it. If you ever, dear reader, 



66 Co ©nglantJ ana ISacfc. 

come to London, be sure you visit the 
Turner drawings. There you see the 
very soul of the man at work, and if you 
have read Ruskin, you will understand 
better than ever before his enthusiastic 
criticisms of Turner. You will be fascin- 
ated every moment of your stay. It may 
be by the exquisite finish of sepia draw- 
ings for engravings, or the grand jotting 
down of Alpine scenery with a few 
blotches of color, and a minute touch here 
and there of pen or pencil, or it may be 
the perfect effect of complete transcrip- 
tion accomplished with a simplicity that 
absolutely dazzles. 

After leaving the National Gallery, we 
walked off to number thirty-two Little 
Queen Street, the office of The Church 
Times. Here we found sad affliction. 
Only the day before, Mr. George J. 
Palmer, the founder and proprietor of 
that excellent church paper, had breathed 
his last. We were received with great 
kindness by his son, but after expressing 
our most earnest sympathy we quickly 
withdrew. With a sense of personal loss 
we came out into the busy street, think- 
ing of the many years the weekly visit of 



&o ©nglanti an* ISacfe, 67 

The Church Times had been to us as the 
visit of a friend. On and on we went 
and soon found ourselves at Guildhall. 
The great hall itself where civic ban- 
quets are wont to be held, a grand gothic 
structure, gave us much to admire, while 
we watched the bewigged lawyers and 
their clients walking about. From this 
seething stream of life it was a pleasant 
change to visit the Free Library, and 
see the " pale clerks " bending over their 
books; and further on, to walk through 
the museum and see objects of continued 
interest; among others, a collection of im- 
pressions of the great seals of England 
from seven hundred and fifty -seven to the 
present date. From Guildhall another 
vague stroll brought us to London 
Bridge, over it, and back again. Leaning 
over the parapets one could watch the 
swift current of the receding tide, the 
flying barges, and the forest of shipping 
further on, or turning to the living tor- 
rent on the bridge, one might study its 
awful stream for hours. On every hand 
life is teeming. It is not merely the great 
throng upon the enormous bridge, but 
far beneath, at each side of the great ap- 



68 Co <£ngiantJ anti ISacfe. 

proaches, other throngs have place. You 
look down into Lower Thames Street, 
and there another type of being seems to 
exist; fishermen and dock-hands, and 
stevedores, with warehouses and gin 
shops on every hand. In the midst of 
all this bustle and grime stood a church. 
What must it be to work in such a place; 
great the labor, and great the reward. 
Down I must go into the midst of the 
turmoil, and go I did. It seems almost 
wrong to be lounging round among such 
toilers, wrong to merely gaze at them, 
but if my attitude and face expressed 
what my heart felt, then my sympathy 
and respect for them would secure me 
respect also. 

Great lines of men were toiling out 
from the ships over plank after plank, up 
ladders and on to wagons far down the 
street, each man with a box of oranges 
resting on his bent head and shoulders. 
Ah, the burden, and the slippery pave- 
ment, and the constant strain; and yet 
more sad were the idle groups that looked 
wistfully at the happy burdened ones. 

With a sigh I turned once more home- 
ward, past the monument of the great 



Co ©nglantJ antJ ISacfc. 69 

London fire, on westward until I reached 
the Embankment, with its calm and 
beauty, such a happy contrast to the 
toilers of London Bridge and its envi- 
rons, and to the glitter and bustle of the 
Strand. It was dark once more, the lights 
gleamed out in their curving lines by the 
river. Under the arches of Waterloo 
Bridge, one could get a glimpse, in dim 
perspective, of the Palace of Westminster 
and the Abbey. It was all undefined and 
grand, like some stately music of Beet- 
hoven. A livelier measure would typify 
the Strand, while the titanic sound of 
storm, or the crashing of the waves upon 
the shore, might give figure of the toil 
and labor at London Bridge. Thus my 
day had contrasts enough, in its almost 
haphazard flow. 

London, J anuary 28, 18Q2. 



7o Co <£ttglanti aitt< Bacfe* 



XL 



MY second Sunday in London was a 
busy day. It began with a Cele- 
bration at the Abbey at eight o'clock. The 
morning was wet and gloomy, and, for 
London the streets almost deserted. It is 
not far to walk from Northumberland Ave- 
nue to Westminster, and wet as the morn- 
ing was, he would be rather dull who could 
notice it during such a walk, past White- 
hall, where the first Charles shed his 
blood, past the Horse Guards with all they 
tell of British martial glory, past Down- 
ing Street and all that it hints of political 
life, and on to the great Abbey itself, 
looming up in the mist and smoke. We 
are at the door and enter what seems the 
empty building. There are perhaps twenty 
people present, almost unseen in the dark- 
ness. At each side of the altar are two 
standard candles alight, but the lights 
proper on the altar itself are not lit. 
Presently, preceded by a verger, there 



Co ©itglanti anfo $3acfc. 71 

enters a priest who wins my heart at once 
by his reverent demeanor. Sweetly he 
utters every word, his soft, clear voice 
without effort fills the space of the choir. 
It is a treat to look at him and hear the 
purity of his English tongue. The great 
roof above is only dimly visible in the 
darkness, and down from its unseen 
depths floats at intervals the cooing of a 
dove. It comes so weirdly and mystically, 
like a voice of love from some buried 
past. Again and again it floats out, pos- 
sibly not one there noticed it but myself, 
but I could not help fancying all sorts of 
things about it. It was my distraction in 
the service. I thought how fearful it 
must sound in the empty dark church, 
and then my longing thoughts went out 
to the delightful horror of being in the 
Abbey all alone, and in the dark, and lis- 
tening to it. 

As the service went on I conquered 
this distraction and when it came time to 
kneel in that sacred place, I could not 
keep back the tears. As I turned from 
the altar with downcast eyes and looked 
at the rugged pavement, worn by time 
and many a footstep, I thought of the 



72 Co (fBnglanti anfc 3$acfe. 

myriads through all those years, comforted 
and refreshed there by the Body and 
Blood of Christ. 

At ten o'clock in the morning I was 
due at St. Mary's Hospital, Paddington, 
where I assisted the chaplain and made a 
short address. The hospital is one of the 
smaller London institutions, but has an 
enormous number of beds, and was to my 
eyes a huge affair. The chapel was well 
appointed and the service choral. 

The chaplain kindly piloted me to the 
nearest interesting church, and selected 
that one, as he said, " in which Phillips 
Brooks used to preach" — Christ Church, 
Lancaster Gate. I found a grand new 
church, choral Matins and Litany, plain 
music and good choir, with an enormous 
congregation. The whole tone was of 
that splendid style which puts the hand- 
some forward rather than the dogmatic. 
The altar was vested, had cross and flow- 
ers, but no lights, and the reredos and 
chancel were resplendent with black mar- 
ble pillars and much color decoration. 
The preacher was from India, and in his 
sermon made some startling statements. 
I remember in particular two of them: 



Co <£nglanfc antu ISacfe. 73 

one, that India, under British rule con- 
tained one-fifth of the people in the 
world, the other was that obscene litera- 
ture, which would not be suffered in 
England, has freest distribution in India, 
and that the British government, when 
asked to prohibit it, decline to do so, for 
this reason, that if they condemned the 
obscenity in such literature, they would 
be condemning similar obscenity existing 
in the Hindoo religion. Thus, as they 
cannot by treaty, interfere with the re- 
ligion of the Hindoos, even indirectly, 
they are estopped from any action what- 
ever touching the pernicious literature 
mentioned. 

The service over I walked across Ken- 
sington Gardens to the Albert Memorial, 
and in this, my third or fourth view of it, 
saw more than ever to admire. It is the 
apotheosis of wifely devotion. Prince 
Albert in gilt bronze, sits enthroned under 
a gorgeous canopy of mosaic work, 
around him are symbolic figures of the 
arts and sciences, underneath is a great 
frieze of life size figures, extending round 
the four sides of the massive base. In 
this grand series are all the great lights in 



74 Co ©nglanti anti ISacit. 

architecture, painting, sculpture, music and 
letters. It would be a liberal education to 
know the life and works of each man 
there depicted. Twice I walked around 
the living yet ever still procession, and yet 
lingering, turned away. A rare skill has 
been used in the selection and the sculp- 
ture. Yet further down the great sweep 
of steps, at each outer corner, stand a 
colossal group, representing Europe, Asia, 
Africa and America, while opposite the 
whole structure rises the Albert Hall. 
Getting on top of a bus I got into the 
neighborhood of my hotel, near Trafal- 
gar Square, and had a little well-earned 
rest. 

Three o'clock found me at the Abbey 
once more to hear Farrar preach. The 
choir and transepts were crowded, many 
standing through the whole service. The 
usual entrance was so blocked up, that, 
availing myself of a knowledge of how 
the land lay, I went round to Poet's Cor- 
ner and got a good seat opposite the pul- 
pit, though quite out of sight of the 
singers. This rather gave piquancy to 
the effect of the music, which was all that 
one could wish. The sermon was on the 



Co <£nglan*j ant» 3Sacfe. 75 

ninth Commandment, and such a sermon! 
It flowed on like a mighty stream, but 
yet not deep enough to be without broils 
and rapids. It was a sharp cut against 
vituperation, while it was in itself a most 
splendid specimen of the same. The 
Wesleys and Oliver Cromwell were held 
up as persecuted saints among a list of 
others, grouped with like eclecticism. In 
mentioning also the sufferings of Maurice 
and Stanley for the truth, they were 
spoken of as the victims of the " acrid 
orthodoxy of religious opinion." One 
could not help thinking of Neale, Keble, 
Pusey, Newman, and many others. 

After the service at the Abbey, Dr. 
Bridge played gloriously on the great 
organ, while the congregation flowed out 
into the nave, walking about, looking at 
the monuments, or standing in groups 
listening to the grand music. That over, 
soon all dispersed. 

But the day was not yet over for me. 
It was dusk, I did not feel tired, and a 
leisurely stroll down the Embankment 
toward St. Paul's, where I intended to be 
at seven o'clock, seemed just the thing. 
It was pleasant to watch the children at 



76 Co ©ngianfc anfc fSacit. 

play — the London children, on the one 
day they can play in the streets without 
being in danger of their lives. They 
used their opportunity well. 

At last St. Paul's was reached. How 
solemn and still it all seemed. The church 
all dark, the streets silent. It was with 
difficulty I could find a place open to get 
some tea, but the Faulkner Inn opened 
its doors, and in a snug little domestic 
looking coffee-room I made myself com- 
fortable until St. Paul's bells boomed out 
for service. Quickly the great space of the 
cathedral was filled up, there must have 
been at least five thousand present. The 
choir was that which is called supple- 
mentary, the music used was simple, no 
anthems, but in their place three good 
congregational hymns; the congregation 
too sang them with a will. I noticed 
that whenever the time was not distinct 
and good the people failed. The first 
hymn, " O God of hosts, the mighty 
Lord," had a complicated feeling about its 
melody; that hymn was poor. "We love 
the place, O God," with its straight for- 
ward tune, had a good swing, but when 



Co C£nglanli anto Iciacft. 77 

Gilbert's setting to "Pleasant are thy 
courts above," was given out, then there 
was as the sound of many waters from 
the assembled throngs ; my heart swelled 
within me as I listened to it. 

At last the sermon time has come, and 
the Hon. E. Lyttleton, headmaster of 
Haileybury School, ascends the pulpit. 
He took for his text Job 1:9, " Doth 
Job serve God for naught?" It was a 
masterly outline of the Book of Job, and 
a setting forth of the theme thereof as 
the inspired answer to modern pessimism. 
There was grand reserve in the manner 
of the preacher, a clear far-reaching 
voice, an intense earnestness, always chas- 
tened by severe taste, and a sparing but 
graceful use of gesture; throughout the 
length of the masterly discourse, and it 
was long, the attention of the people 
seemed unflagging. 

I must add that Dean Gregory read 
the Lessons with a sonorous and sym- 
pathetic voice; his heart seemed to go 
out, in all its genial greatness, with 
every word, as he gave the Benediction 
from the altar over that vast congregation 



78 Co <£ttfilanti antJ ISacfe. 

at the close. Slowly they dispersed, and 
thronged the streets on all sides. A bus 
up the Strand brought me comfortably on 
my way to rest and sleep. 

London, January 31, 1892. 



Co <£nglanti antr ISacfe, 79 



XII. 

MONDAY morning found us on our 
way to St. Mary Magdalene's, 
Munster Square, to attend the funeral of 
Mr. G.J. Palmer. We felt as undeputed 
representatives of his many friends in 
America, who have learned much from 
the fearless columns of The Church Times. 
We entered after the service had begun, 
and the tones of the Psalm ringing out 
well accorded with the draped altar and 
reredos. All was solemn, sombre and sor- 
rowful. St. Mary Magdalene's is a severe, 
handsome church, archaic in its form, and 
especially in its stained glass. How far it 
is wise, except as a matter of sentimental 
taste, to revive such severe outlines is a 
question; such was a flitting thought 
which impressed itself upon me. At the 
close of the lesson a hymn was sung and 
then the solemn Eucharist followed, the 
music used was the Gregorian Requiem, 
and lent itself with touching pathos to the 



So Co ©nglant» an* $3acfc. 

occasion. The sequence was the Dies Irce, 
sung in alternate strains by men and boys. 
In the latter part of the immortal hymn, 
the slowness and softness of utterance 
gave special force and was an illustration 
of the great effect of such simple music 
under devout and sympathetic treatment. 
In the Agnus Dei the extremely simple 
arrangement as found in the requiem music 
of the Guild of All Souls' was made 
thrilling by the careful declamation of 
the boy choristers. 

The family of the deceased and imme- 
diate relatives alone received. It seemed 
such a loving, comforting thing to see 
them approach the altar and also to be 
especially appropriate that all others who 
were present should assist them in their 
loving devotions, and stand aloof in sym- 
pathy, not venturing nearer when such 
sacred grief and blessed personal comfort 
were upon them. 

At the close of the service the choir 
and officiating clergy grouped themselves 
around the bier, which was flanked at 
each side by three tall tapers, the Nunc 
Dimittis was then sung and the coffin 
censed. 



Co ©nglan* an* iSacit. 81 

The remaining part of the service was 
said at the grave, in Highgate Cemetery. 
Thither I went, raining as it was, and in 
due time reached that city of the dead 
lifted up above the great city of the liv- 
ing. Had the day been clear the outlook 
would have been tremendous, but even as 
it was, one felt the great elevation of the 
place. The coffin was met at the ceme- 
tery gates by choir and clergy, and with 
solemn song the grave was reached. 
There amidst a dense down-pour of rain 
and roaring wind, the last words were 
said, and George Josiah Palmer was laid 
to sleep with his kindred. From many 
hearts went up the prayer that he might 
rest in peace and that light perpetual 
might shine upon him. On my way 
down the steep road which leads to the 
railwav station, I joined myself to a pleas- 
ant-looking old gentleman whom I had 
observed deeply moved at the grave. 
"Ah," said he, "we were young men to- 
gether; I remember but as yesterday, 
when a lot of us, young fellows, took 
twelve copies of the Church Times apiece, 
just to start it." 

I must mention also that just as I was 



82 Co <£ngianfc an* Back. 

leaving St. Mary Magdalene's a clergy- 
man addressed me with the question 
whether I was not an American and my 
name Cooke. Ah, like a flash I could 
see it all. He had known my dear friend, 
William H. Cooke, dead and gone, once 
in Trinity Parish, the genial soul, the 
lovely singer, the simple, earnest nature. 
Some one had told me once that there 
was a touch of resemblance in our faces, 
and here this stranger in London stopped 
me with the question. We had, you may 
be sure, a hearty word of sympathy and 
then a loving adieu. Before we parted, 
however, he asked once again: "Do you 
know Post? " " Yes," said I, "good soul, 
he was one of my best friends in the sem- 
inary in New York." 

From Highgate I made direct by rail 
to Moorgate Street station and to my 
bankers for letters. Letters from home, 
how good they are, and what a delicious 
thing to tear them open, devour the con- 
tents and then slowly read them all over 
again. 

My energies being yet good for some 
hours' work, I went off into the White- 
chapel district, and my luck brought me, 



Co <£nglant> antr ISacfc. 83 

without a thought, to Toynbee Hall and 
St. Jude's, Whitechapel. As I entered 
the court of Toynbee Hall, I met the 
Rev. Mr. Boyle, one of the curates of St 
Jude's, and in the most courteous way he 
handed me over to Mr. Aves. Under 
his direction *I had a brief glimpse of this 
Oxford settlement in East London, and 
its attempt to plant " sweetness and light " 
among its grimy denizens. It was not 
the hour when persons of that class could 
avail themselves of its benefits. I could 
see enough, however, from the syllabus 
of lectures and classes, to learn that a 
great work was being done, done in a 
certain way, it is true, but yet done. It 
was my privilege to see the library with 
its choice books, to walk through the cor- 
ridors decorated with engravings and 
photographs, and to stand in the cheerful 
dining-room of the resident gentlemen 
who try to make an evangel of their lives 
in this crowded part of London. It was 
a noble room, graced by good pictures, a 
grand piano, and a full size plaster repro- 
duction of the splendid archer, I think by 
Thorneycroft. There is nothing harsh 
or distinctively ascetic, or, indeed, it may 



84 Co ©nglan* an* SSacfc, 

be said, definitely dogmatic about Toyn- 
bee Hall, but surely it must do a splendid 
work. St. Jude's is close by. It is an 
old classical church and every effort has 
been made to brighten it up in the esthetic 
sense. Engravings and photographs hung 
on the pillars, some pictures that looked 
like Watts, hung on the wall. One espe- 
cially impressed me: Love in vain trying 
to keep Death, a veiled figure, from en- 
tering the portal. There was also a 
striking plaster group, life size, of Esau 
pleading with Isaac for a blessing. There 
was hope in Isaac's face even for 
Esau, and so that figure may give 
hope to many a modern Esau, who, 
too, has sold his birthright for "the 
mess of pottage." Slowly I walked 
around the church. The old lady care- 
taker was putting away all the Bibles and 
Prayer Books, for, I think that evening 
the Oratorio of the Messiah was to be 
sung by a local musical society. I noticed 
that the old lady had a nice little gas stove 
near her official chair, all aglow. The 
font, too, had a cluster of bright red flow- 
ers at its foot, and the seats for the choris- 
ters in the choir were painted a brilliant 



Co <£nglan* antj Back. 85 

red. What a contrast it all was to St. 
Mary Magdalene's! It may be that this 
cheeriness is just what is needed by the 
poor. Add to it the knowledge of the 
Faith, and Catholic practice, and you 
have all wants met. 

This constant tendency to cater to the 
love of pleasure in church matters, leads, 
one does not know whither; where is it 
to stop? On coming out a great sign 
caught my eye on a Baptist church di- 
rectly opposite: " Commercial Road Bap- 
tist church, Free Concerts every Satur- 
day evening, at 8:15." It seems like 
turning the ways of Zion into a kind 
of Vanity Fair. Let us hope better 
results. 

I walked on westward by the St. Cath- 
erine's Docks and the Tower of London. 
There was no time to go in. I had seen 
it all once before, so I contented myself 
with the grand outside view, over which 
a great rift in the clouds was shedding 
a flood of yellowish light. The whole 
scene looked like an enormous etching by 
Haden, with its deep browns and flashing 
lights and intense action. I looked once 
more at the great White Tower, and the 



86 Co ©ttQlanti antf ISacfc. 

Traitor's Gate, and then, walking over 
Tower Hill, turned to the Mark Lane 
station of the Underground, and was 
soon thereafter at Charing Cross. 

London, February i, 1892. 



Co <£ttfilano an* ISacfe, 87 



XIII. 

ON the Feast of the Purification, I 
made my way to St. Alban's, Hol- 
born, taking my journey from the Strand, 
through Lincoln's Inn Fields. How little 
one would expect such expanse, and such 
quiet nooks, such secluded places, near the 
clatter and traffic close at hand on the 
always busy Strand. 

One would fain examine those curious 
places, wander through the magnificent 
Law Courts, and, if possible, investigate 
the many Inns of the lawyers, but in the 
presence of such evident quiet, matter-of- 
fact company, one dare not intrude, and 
must be content with looks only, looks 
which recall all one has read of lawyers 
and their ways, in Dickens or Thackeray. 
A little commission I had for a friend, to 
get him an engraved coat of arms in cor- 
rect fashion, took me into this neighbor- 
hood, where, at the Great Turnstile, I got 
what was wanted. I had a pleasant chat 



Co ©nglanti anti ^acfe. 



with the gentleman in charge, who 
showed me a most interesting collection 
of heraldic emblazonments in all their 
fascinating variety. Incidentally I learned 
that he was on Sundays an organist and 
choirmaster at a church in Barking, so we 
had something in common beside the 
" pomp of heraldry-" 

It was but a step or so to Brooke Street, 
Holborn. The Celebration had just begun 
as I entered St. Alban's. For a week 
day, there was a good congregation, and 
the service was all one could desire. The 
music was rendered by a choir of five 
men, and some ladies with excellent 
voices, who were not visible from the 
congregation. There was a tone of cer- 
tainty and finish to it, quite refreshing. 
It was all most elaborate, all except the 
Introit and Sequence, which were Gre- 
gorian. 

The ritual at St. Alban's is a matter of 
careful thought, and the result is shown 
in a most reverent service. Here, as in 
other churches I have been in, the men 
sit on the Epistle side, and the women on 
the north, or Gospel, side. Here, as in 
in other particulars, I found perplexing 



Co ©ttQlantr an* ISacfc. 8 9 

and needless variations. When at St. 
Andrew's, Wells Street, I sat, as I did 
elsewhere, on the Epistle side, but in a 
short time I was shown the error of my 
way by the verger, who ordered me 
across the aisle. As one goes about, one 
longs for that definite uniformity in ritual 
usage which is such a powerful witness 
for obedience to authority. In due time 
doubtless it will come. 

On my way out from St. Alban's, I 
visited the Mackonochie Memorial Chapel. 
It seemed to me perfect. It is but a small 
place, twenty-seven feet eight inches by 
sixteen feet four inches, but it has a dig- 
nity and a beauty unsurpassed. The ex- 
quisite grace and finish of every part take 
away the sense of smallness, while the 
fullness of detail, the richness of symbolic 
allusion in every line, and the graceful 
delicacy of the sculptured figures and 
varied carvings, convey a sense of at least 
spiritual spaciousness, for when there, you 
are in the presence of great ideas. A 
recumbent white marble figure of Father 
Mackonochie is in the sculptor's hands, 
as also a beautiful group for the front of 
the altar. It is a fitting, and in every 



9© 2To <£nslant» anti ISacft. 

way worthy, memorial of a faithful 
priest. 

In the afternoon we made a call at 
the historic rooms of the Society for the 
Propagation of the Gospel, where the 
genial secretary, Rev. Mr. Tucker, made 
us much at home. I am sure all Ameri- 
can clergy visiting London, would find it 
pleasant to look in at the central point 
of that great force which goes out over 
the whole earth, and which in the past 
has left its mark upon the Church in 
America. I noticed as I passed through 
the office, large packing cases with their 
tropical-looking tin linings, all marked for 
Natal. Delahay Street, where the office 
is, is near the Downing Street govern- 
ment mansions. As I left the door, the 
rain descended in torrents, and with some 
very fine-looking people I took shelter 
under one of the great porches, but 
bethinking myself of the Abbey close at 
hand, and time for Evensong lacking 
only ten minutes, I made a dash for that 
haven, and got there in time for a glori- 
ous service; a splendid anthem from the 
Messiah, consisting of the aria, " The 
Lord whom ye seek," and the chorus, 



Co <£nglatrtr anfc ISacfc. 91 

" Behold the Lamb of God." Whether 
the rain or the holiday was the efficient 
cause of the large congregation, I know 
not, but large it was. We had a nice clear 
sermon, also, of about fifteen minutes, on 
the festival. Still raining at the close, it 
was convenient to take a bus to Oxford 
Street, where, alighting near All Saints', 
Margaret Street, we paid our usual visit 
to that lovely church, and heard a plain 
simple Evensong, full of devotion, and 
sung all through to Gregorian tones. A 
walk thence by the glittering shops and 
through the crowded streets, brought us 
to our hotel home and earned rest. 

Londo?i, February 2, 18Q2. 



92 Co GFttglantf attfc ISacfe. 



XIV. 

WHILE in London I went to a 
South-west London church for a 
visit, — St. Andrew's, Stockwell Green. 
When one gets over Westminster Bridge 
and takes a tram car it seems like being at 
home. The cars are American make, 
brought over here piece- meal, and put 
together at this side. My friend, the Rev. 
Mr Everest, pointed out various cele- 
brated spots as we passed along, among 
them Newman Hall's great meeting- 
house, with its grand front and spire. 

In reaching Stockwell we got out and 
examined the church of St. John the 
Divine, Kennington, a beautiful interior 
of brick, graceful in proportion, with that 
air of warmth and color so desirable in 
modern churches. Arrived at Stockwell 
Green, we enjoyed the charming hospi- 
tality of a brother priest and his de- 
voted wife. There we talked over Amer- 
ican Church affairs, the election of Bish- 



Co ©nglanti ant* ^Sacft* 93 

ops, the government of dioceses, £he 
appointments of clergy, the tenure of 
cure, and all the points of difference 
which seem so fair and free to our Eng- 
lish cousins. I learned on the other hand 
something of the English side of this 
Rochester diocese with its seven hundred 
clergy, of the parish in which I then was, 
with its seventeen thousand souls, of the 
manifold forms of work carried on by the 
priest and his three assistant clergy, and 
bands of organized workers, in church, 
Sunday school, day school, and various 
temperance, literary, and social organiza- 
tions. It seemed to me such a grand 
work. After tea we visited a club room 
for working men, admirably appointed, 
and presided over by one of the clergy. 
Here we had chat after chat with one and 
another, more especially with one dear 
good lady, who, charmed by our appreci- 
ation of London, asked us if we had seen 
St. Bartholomew's, Smithfield. Of course 
we had, years ago, and had admired 
again and again its antique beauty. 

From the club we went to the schools 
where eight hundred children are daily 
instructed. Here a musical and dramatic 



94 Co (£nglanfc antr iBaclu 

entertainment was in full blast, under the 
direction of a temperance club, and one of 
the curates acting as director. The school 
room was crowded with a delighted 
auditory. There was a farce, and recita- 
tions, and music by a brass band. It was 
amusing enough, but what amused me 
most was the extreme difficulty to catch 
the words, because of the soft intonations 
and curious elisions of vowels and conso- 
nants. 

I was perhaps a little hard in steadily 
refusing to say something, but I was a 
looker on, and glad to study this little 
glimpse of work in a crowded district in 
South-west London. 

After leaving London I came directly 
to Nottingham, not much affected by 
pleasure travel, but a commercial centre 
of much importance in manufactories, and 
interesting to me, from family associa- 
tions. 

Nottingham itself has a few remnants 
of mediaeval times, notably its three great 
churches of St. Mary, St. Peter, and St. 
Nicholas, the former, a grand cathedral- 
like building in the perpendicular style of 
architecture. The castle, too, on its great 



2To ©nglantJ anti 3Sacfc* 95 

crag, reminding one of Edinburgh, ac- 
cents the whole place with a historic tone. 
The sinuous streets with here and there 
old English fronts outside, and panelled 
oak within, attract attention. The place is 
noted for its great central market place, 
where, especially on Saturdays, one may 
find a busy scene indeed, everything 
possible on sale — fish, flesh and fowl, 
with all sorts of commodities you can im- 
agine. The part of the market given up 
to flowers was particularly attractive. I 
was much pleased with the tasteful 
arrangement of the stalls, and the appre- 
ciative selection of ivy, laurel, and other 
shrubs, as well as harmonious groups of 
choicer plants. 

In my wandering about among the 
booths and in the streets, I came on an 
old darkey selling papers. Having bought 
one I got into conversation with him, and 
soon learned from him in the soft full 
voice of the genuine darkey, that he had 
shipped from New Haven fifteen years 
before, and that he had been in Notting- 
ham ever since. When I asked him if he 
ever wanted to go back to America, 
" No, sah," said he, " I can lay my bones 



96 Co <£nglantr anti $$atk. 

heah, as well as theah, I am as- neah to 
Him." There was a touching trust in 
his poor old face, and a humble content 
worth imitating. 

Lent 'on , Nottingham, February 5, i8q2. 



fto ©nglanfc anti 1i3acfc. 97 



XV. 



I HAVE come from a most interesting 
experience here in Nottingham. It 
was in an immense warehouse where lace 
curtains are finished and put upon the 
market in all parts of the world; where 
the finer sorts of laces are produced in 
splendid imitation of old point, in all its 
historical varieties, which I am not learned 
enough to name; where all manner of 
dainty nicknacks in trimmings are turned 
out by machinery which almost seems 
to think; to this immense establishment 
I was driven for the opening of the day 
at 8 : 30 a. m., and what do you suppose 
was this beginning? It was the united 
prayers and praises of employers and 
employed, all together, some five hundred 
of them, in a well-appointed chapel, with 
good organ, choir, and choral service. It 
was a most delightful thing to hear that 
multitude sing with lusty voices, " The 



Co ^ttfiian* anil ISaciu 



King of Love, my Shepherd, is. His 
goodness faileth never." 

From the platform I watched them all 
as they came in, quietly, briskly, orderly, 
and then there was in so many instances, 
the reverent bowing down for silent 
prayer. Men, women, and girls, alto- 
gether in that great chapel in the base- 
ment of the huge warehouse. It was a 
lovely sight. The service book is a com- 
pilation from the Book of Common 
Prayer, a varying portion being taken 
for each day; addresses are added on 
Tuesdays and Thursdays, but the whole 
service is kept within half an hour. The 
service this morning consisted of a hymn, 
a few collects, the decalogue with re- 
sponses, and the prayer for Christ's 
Church Militant, the address, and bene- 
diction. 

It was my privilege to give the ad- 
dress, and few occasions ever gave me 
such pleasure. I had heard the service in 
St. George's, Windsor; in St. Paul's, and 
the Abbey, but nowhere did it seem so 
thrilling as uttered by those work people 
before their daily toil. 

It certainly is a happy idea to assem- 



Co <£ttglantj ant* IBacfe. 99 

ble all as a great family before the duty 
of the day begins. The working people 
take a deep interest in the services; they 
have themselves paid for the organ, and 
look upon employment in this warehouse 
as a distinct advantage. I have been told 
that a well-defined, refining influence, is 
marked in all employed there; and cer- 
tainly it seemed so, as one saw the intel- 
ligent, refined and cultivated faces among 
them. 

One of the proprietors with a just 
pride told me that I would be astonished 
to find the advancement, intelligence, and 
varied information which existed among 
them. I need hardly say that it would 
not have surprised me in the least, for I 
have found full many a beautiful blossom 
in humble, lowly places, and much innate 
refinement under most unfavorable cir- 
cumstances. Said my friend: I had a 
lady visitor from London, and a Board 
meeting kept me so busy that I could not 
just at the moment give the interview 
required. In my predicament I bethought 
me of one of the girls in the packing 
room to amuse my grand visitor from 
the metropolis. " Get a cab," said I to 



ioo Co ©nglanti an* 33acfe. 

the girl, " and take this lady to the Cas- 
tle Museum or anywhere you like, and 
entertain her until I have leisure. So," said 
he, " I left the two together, the lady in 
sealskin, and the factory girl in her own 
simple garb. When I returned, I found 
them hob-nobbing together in splendid 
style, the lady having accepted an invita- 
tion to share the factory girl's tea in the 
refreshment hour. Afterwards I had a 
note from the lady's husband thanking 
me for the splendid time his wife had on 
her visit. It was none of my doing, it 
was the intelligent and genial companion- 
ship of the factory girl." I felt myself 
that this bright spirit extended on all 
hands, as I went with my friend from 
floor to floor, being shown by the em- 
ployees in the various departments, the 
specialties over which they each had con- 
trol. 

I must add that two chaplains and an 
organist are engaged for the daily ser- 
vices, and duly paid by the company. 
Surely it is a good investment and one 
that might well be copied in our many 
mammoth enterprises of Chicago. 

Lenton, Nottingham, February <p, 1892. 



Co (England anti 33acfc. 101 



XVI. 

WHAT can exceed the unaffected 
hospitality of an English home? 
There is a delicious quiet about it, a mat- 
ter-of-fact gentle assumption that you 
are completely at home, and that you 
are thus also completely at ease. You 
come and go at your own will, under 
the sole obligation to be present at 
the culmination of the day, the seven 
o'clock dinner. You are free for all 
else. Your own room, with easy chair 
and well-supplied writing table, may be 
your retreat, or you can enjoy library or 
drawing-room, or the pleasures of the 
park or garden. A gentle, unvarying 
attention is paid by the silent and noise- 
less servants. Your every want is quietly 
anticipated. You may return after a 
drive in the chilly air — a bright coal fire 
in your room will greet you there, while 
your slippers, laid where you can easily 
get them, also give welcome. The house 



102 Co ©Hfilanti anfc ISacfe. 

is all happily-innocent of water pipes or 
stationary wash-basins, but hot water will 
be sure to be on hand for your dinner 
toilet, and ere you are up in the morning 
a great brass pitcher of the same cheer- 
ing temperature will be brought to your 
door, with which, and a sitting bath tub 
in your room, you can make a most com- 
fortable beginning to your day. If you 
get to the breakfast room before nine, 
doubtless you will be first there yourself, 
but soon the head of the house and others 
arrive, the servants come in for family 
prayers, I have seen six of them, Bible in 
hand, comely women and maids, a goodly 
sight, fair, well dressed and neatly capped. 

That family worship, morning and 
night, that daily round of Scripture read- 
ing, that constant recurrence of portions 
of the Book of Common Prayer, how 
"good and how pleasant" it is all! 

What a lovely, straggling meal break- 
fast is! Your letters are by your plate; 
after grace is said everybody reads and 
eats as he chooses. " What will you 
have? Help yourself; there are chops, 
sardines on toast, and cold venison." So 
you go to the side-board and have a slice 



Eo ©nglantJ anti ISacIt* 103 

of what you want. Then plans are made 
for the day. "A carriage will be at the 
door for Bisley at half after eleven," or 
" We go calling in the afternoon," or 
" There is a walking party out to some 
historic site or another later on." 

You must be dull, indeed, if, when, 
dressed for dinner, you take your place 
in the drawing room, you have not had a 
happy day, and have also a keen, good 
appetite for the good things which await 
you, and the lovely hours which follow 
thereafter until prayers and bedtime. At 
last the candles are brought, and once 
more alone before a cheerful fire in your 
spacious, simply-furnished, but most com- 
fortable room, you prepare yourself for 
sweet sleep and pleasant dreams. 

One day recently I made a special pil- 
grimage to Clumber, the seat of his Grace, 
the Duke of Newcastle, to see the beau- 
tiful church which he has recently erected 
for the use of his household, close to his 
castle gates. 

The way led me for eighteen miles 
across country, through village after vil- 
lage, each with its venerable church and 
clustering cottages of red tiled roofs. 



104 Co ©nglanfc anfc ISacfc. 

Pleasant it was to dash along the well- 
kept roads, by farm house and ploughed 
field, over hill and dale, and at last 
enter the beautiful parks which lead 
on to Clumber. The first of these was 
Rufford, glorious with Scotch firs, old 
beeches, and lustrous evergreens. After- 
ward came Thoresby, the seat of Lord 
Manvers, a noble expanse of forest and 
rich woodland, part of Sherwood Forest; 
great troops of deer were on every side, 
while pheasants and other game con- 
stantly broke covert. At last Clumber 
was reached, a great pile of buildings 
without special architectural attraction, 
but filled, we were told, with objects of 
art. Somehow I never care for a hurried 
look at such matters. It is a most tiring 
operation, and an outrage on one's artistic 
conscience. My coachman rather startled 
me by asking if I wished to drive up 
to the front door. « No," said I. " I am 
sure the Duke would be glad to see me, 
but really I have not the honor of his 
acquaintance." At this juncture a passing 
retainer, evidently ready to be inter- 
viewed, informed us that if we wished to 
see the church we should drive up to it, 



Co <£nglantf anto SSacfe* 105 

and ask for the verger, Mr. Harvey. 
This we did, but every door was locked. 
The external beauty made one long all 
the more for that which was within. In 
this fix we bethought us of the chap- 
lain, and went to his residence. The 
kindly spoken servants told us with regret 
that he was away and would not be 
home until night, suggesting to us that 
we should see the Duke's housekeeper 
who could possibly open the church for 
us. We soon saw this good lady ; cheery 
and bright she was, in her great apart- 
ment which was covered with family 
pictures and filled at one side with an 
immense cabinet crowded with rare old 
china. Back we went with her to the 
parson's house where after a little search 
she found his keys, and opened for us the 
church doors. 

ft is, without exception, the most 
stately and harmonious small church I 
have ever seen. I could only take a re- 
gretfully rapid glance over the whole 
place, and take in the general effect, for I 
had yet to drive back eighteen miles to 
reach home. 

I entered at the side door, a little, nar- 



106 Co <£nglatrti anfc l^aclt. 

row affair, but at once went down the 
nave to the western entrance to get the 
impression, first, of the whole building. 
The church is cruciform, a nave with 
choir, and transepts, and choir aisles. The 
south choir aisle contains the Lady chapel ; 
the north choir aisle, the organ chamber, 
and vestry rooms. The interior and ex- 
terior are done in warm-tinted stone, like 
our Lake Superior sandstone; the win- 
dows are placed high, and the open roof, 
exquisite in proportion. The whole place 
has such a satisfying, harmonious effect 
— - glass, woodwork, carved stone, orna- 
ments, everything — that the eye is di- 
verted from detail. One gets an impres- 
sion of a small interior, magnificent in 
itself, commanding reverent admiration 
as a whole. You look through the open 
door of the choir screen and see the 
altar, glorious in itself and white with its 
six lights and other groups of tapers! It 
is splendidly vested, and rich in every 
ornament, the cross, the tabernacle, the 
candlesticks, faultless in taste and work- 
manship. Back again the eye is drawn 
to the screen. I only have an impression 



Co <£nalanfc an* ISactt* 107 

of rich wood carving, with saints, and 
angels, and sacred symbols over all. 
What attracted me most was a unique 
looking rood, with the Blessed Virgin 
and St. John, an elaborate piece of carv- 
ing, hanging suspended over the screen 
itself, while on the screen stood six im- 
mense candlesticks holding tall wax tapers. 

The nave and side chapel were seated 
with plain chairs; all were alike, the 
Duke and his family having no other dis- 
tinction than that of being in the front 
row. 

The north transept was occupied by a 
beautifully carved confessional, and the 
south transept by the font. 

After this hurried glance at the whole 
building from the nave, I entered the 
Lady chapel. The red light told me the 
sacrament was reserved upon the altar. 

From thence I went to the high altar 
in the choir. Here the housekeeper re- 
moved the antependium and disclosed the 
sculptures in the altar front, done in 
purest white marble. 

The choir stalls are cedar and, I think, 
mahogany. Every bench -end, every 



108 Co <£nslartfj anti Bacfc. 

panel, is a study and a lesson, Saints, and 
prophets, and martyrs, angels and arch- 
angels, all are there in loveliest form; 
hangings of choicest velvet, lovely tints 
of blue and green, with subdued orna- 
ments of flower and fruit, all are com- 
bined in the daintiest and most perfect 
fashion for this church of St. Mary the 
Virgin at Clumber. From it, with all 
its beauty, my mind turned to St. Mary's, 
Burlington, New Jersey, the creation of 
Bishop Doane. The same cruciform 
shape, the same rich tint of stone, the 
same great central spire, and if not the 
same in beauty, at least under the same 
invocation to St. Mary, and witness to 
the same love. 

The drive home was even more pleas- 
ant than our coming, for the keen north- 
easter was to our backs, and beauties of 
wood and field not seen before made 
themselves evident. Both journeys were 
brightened by the sweet hospitalities of a 
charming home, where we tarried for 
luncheon and for tea. That was a happy 
hour we had turning over the leaves of 
an illustrated book on horses and dogs 
with an enthusiastic young sportsman not 



Co i&nqlariti antr $3acfc. 109 



yet out of petticoats. Happy home, 
happy children, splendid drive, and glori- 
ous church at Clumber, the point of our 
pilgrimage. 

Southwell, Nottingham, February ij, 1802. 



no Co (^nglantr anfr 13acfe. 



XVII. 

ONE of my Sundays at Nottingham 
gave me the opportunity to attend 
at St. Mary's, the great church of the 
town. It was a little late when I en- 
tered, and as I was ushered up to a good 
seat by the verger, I could hear the great 
booming, earnest, thongh indistinct tones 
of the people joining in the Te Detim. 
They looked happy, pleased, and devo- 
tional. 

St. Mary's is a great cruciform struc- 
ture, largely in the perpendicular Gothic, 
which gives such an air of light, and 
almost fantastic display of windows. The 
whole of the transepts seem to be glass, 
divided by a trellis work of latticed stone. 
Such work impresses me as the product 
of a rich imagination held in check by 
rule. It will display its vigor and rich- 
ness but in an exquisite order and propri- 
ety. We have not, that I know of, in 
America a good specimen of this style. 



Co <£ttglanti anfc Bacfc. 



Would that we had! It seems to make 
the very stones breathe the life of ex- 
uberant, joyous faith, and the walls to 
let in the lustre of the spiritual world. 

Canon Richardson was the preacher, 
a man gifted with precise, incisive speech, 
and that chastened manner indicative of 
reserve power. 

The service consisted of choral Mat- 
ins, simply chanted, an anthem, the ser- 
mon, and offertory verse; all was over in 
an hour and a quarter. This is paving 
the way for better things, and the service 
of services — a full choral Eucharist for 
worship — Communions having been made 
beforehand, at the Celebration which each 
priest ought to say at least every Sunday. 
Three priests are the usual staff in these 
churches; this would give two early Cele- 
brations, and a High Celebration, with 
priest, deacon, and sub-deacon at the 
usual hour of a quarter to eleven in the 
morning. 

One must respect " the patience of the 
saints " which one meets with in England 
and elsewhere. You will find thorough 
knowledge, noble courage, earnest desire 
for full Catholic truth and practice, and 



n2 Co (^nglantu ana ISacfc. 

with it all, this saintly patience with 
utter opposites, this gentle submission to 
apparently inevitable circumstances, this 
prayerful hopefulness that in God's good 
time all will be well, this humble witness 
where God has placed them in His good 
providence. 

I never tire of those vast English con- 
gregations, and their ecclesiastically speak- 
ing, heterogeneous flood. In they stream 
to the church, some heedless, though 
quiet and reserved; others devout and 
exact, as others are apparently careless. 
All are in the church — and side by side 
— and worshipping. And then, after 
service, the flood rolls out in like man- 
ner ; " all sorts and conditions of men," 
almost in every sense of the word. 

In the afternoon of this day, it was 
my pleasant duty to go out to a village 
church in Derbyshire, and preach there 
at the evening service, making an appeal 
for the restoration fund of the building. 
It was in the little village of Sawley, a 
quiet little place without mills or ma- 
chinery, or any modern innovation that I 
could descry. 

The rambling street was a picture, 



Co tSnglanfc antf $3aclL 113 

each house with an expression of its own, 
like a row of rustic heads, no two alike, 
but all quaint, irregular, and interesting. 
Red roofs, straw roofs, queer chimneys, 
oddly placed windows, crumbling stone 
and brick, all covered with glints and 
tints of moss and stain of time. 

The church turned out to be a lovely 
old building, consisting of a good nave 
with pillared aisles, a long drawn choir, 
separated by an ancient wooden screen. 
The stalls and it were of oak, black with 
age and use. There were some curious 
recumbent figures, and many tombs pa- 
thetic in their mutilation. 

The whole place was to me a text on 
which to string memories of the Church, 
from its first foundation on that spot more 
than one thousand years ago, and of 
hopes for the future, as one looked at the 
splendid restoration already accomplished 
there, and elsewhere, and of the grand out- 
look for the whole Church in the Eng- 
lish-speaking empire and the vast conti- 
nent of the United States. Was it too 
much to dream that in some future con- 
gress of the English race, from all parts 
of the earth, America and the English 



H4 Co ©nglantj anti ISack. 

Empire would be one in confederation, 
and England be a Holy Land, a place of 
shrines to which all English hearts would 
turn " from the rising of the sun even 
unto the going down thereof ? " 

The drive out from Nottingham to 
Sawley was through village after village, 
each with its well-appointed church and 
comely churchyard. My heart ached as 
I thought of the vast stretches of our 
own land, sadly lacking in such splendid 
equipment for teaching to all men the 
knowledge of salvation. Few and far 
between are our country churches, so that 
with us it may be that pagan will have 
again its double meaning. But God for- 
bid ! The drive home was in the quiet of 
the night, with the stars looking down 
exactly as they beamed upon me in Chi- 
cago, so minute is the little arc of separa- 
tion here below, compared with the vast 
sweep of the stars above. 

I may mention that the offertory was 
about fifty dollars, and the wholesome- 
faced rustic wardens asked me to come 
again. 

I must also add that the choir was 
quite creditable, a great contrast music- 



Co ©nglanti attti ISacfe. 115 

ally, it is true, to others I had heard ; but 
what was lacking in art was evidently 
made up for in heart, for men and boys 
alike seemed fully impressed with the 
importance of their work. 

. Lenton, Nottingham, February 28, i8q2. 



n6 Co <£nglantr anfc ISacft. 



XVIII. 

ASH Wednesday has come and gone. 
It found me in Oxford, and left me 
after a day of blessed quiet and profit. 
The silence and seclusion of a religious 
house came with special sweetness at such 
a time. The awaking at an early hour, 
the united prayers, the solemn Eucharist, 
so reverential and so simple, in that upper 
room, duly prepared, the retreat of one's 
own cell, the various calls to prayer, the 
awful earnestness of the Litany and Com- 
mination service in the parish church, the 
august simplicity and splendid power of 
the sermon, not one word for effect, but 
every syllable for truth and practice, all 
make up an ideal time of refreshing. 

I had never heard the Commination 
Service before. The Preface sounds out 
with an old-time air thus: "Brethren, 
in the Primitive Church there was a 
godly discipline, that, at the beginning of 
Lent, such persons as stood convicted of 



Co ©nglanti anti ISacfc. 117 

notorious sin were put to open penance, 
and punished in this world, that their souls 
may be saved in the day of the Lord; 
and that others, admonished by their ex- 
ample, might be the more afraid to 
offend." It is a heart-searching service, 
and as read and sung by the aged priest, 
had in it a grand ring of authority and 
power. The JMiserci^e is sung at its close 
alternately by priest and people. The 
voice of the officiant unaccompanied by 
the organ, quavered off in its imperfect 
but most earnest manner, undisturbed by 
the mechanical accuracy of organ pipes; 
it was most touching, the full voices of 
choir, people, and organ, making the 
response. Here, I may say, that the 
Church rule which prescribes that the 
organ should not accompany the priest's 
voice in collects, prefaces, and versicles, 
seems founded upon common sense. If 
the voice is old and cracked, but venera- 
ble, and beloved, and, above all other 
relations, necessary, as the voice of the 
officiant, then an impertinent organ part, 
with its own most positive imperfections, 
only increases the difficulty, marring the 
solemnity, and not mending the music. I 



n8 Co ©nglantJ anfc iSack. 

might also add that there are powers of 
fine gradation in the well-trained expres- 
sive voice, which are unattainable by 
organ pipes. 

In the evening at eight, Knox-Little 
preached at St. Barnabas', the first of a 
course of conferences on Social Questions 
of the day. The great church was packed 
with people — it will hold fifteen hundred 
— on one side a solid body of men, under- 
graduates the most of them, and under- 
graduate Oxford represents the hope and 
flower of English life. I sat away back, 
near the door; one's heart thrilled to look 
out over such a congregation, and to note 
the earnestness, devotion, spirit, and man- 
liness of such a crowd. On the other 
side were women, many of them, too, 
engaged in literary pursuits, and all deeply 
interested in the great cause of religion, 
which in Oxford finds at once its greatest 
conflicts, greatest victories, and greatest 
opportunities. 

St. Barnabas', Oxford, has been my 
ideal of a town church, one that might 
have been, and in God's good time may 
yet be, in Chicago. It was built by Mr. 
Coombe, University printer, long since 



Co ©nglanli anti Back. 119 

gone to his reward. The structure is what 
one might call inexpensive, for though 
cheap, there is nothing cheap-looking 
about it. It is a Basilica, a plain paral- 
lelogram, a great pillared oblong space, 
with side aisles, and an apse at the east 
end in which stands the high altar under 
a grand canopy. In front of the altar, 
extending out into the nave, stands the 
choir, raised, and enclosed by open screen 
work. The structure is of concrete, 
trimmed with brick, plain and severe in 
form, but made elegant by correct lines, 
well chosen ornament, and tasteful color 
and gilding. A fine campanile stands at 
the south-east corner, affording in its 
lower story adequate vestry and choir 
rooms; above, a place for the organ and 
a full chime of tubular bells. 

The effect of a highly gilded altar, the 
covering baldachino, the choir enclosed 
and elevated, as seen through the vista of 
a pillared nave, is exceedingly rich and 
magnificent. In the apse roof above the 
altar is a colossal figure of our Lord in 
glory seated, in the Byzantine style. In 
front of the apse, are the symbols of the 
four Evangelists, two at each side. The 



120 Co ^nglanti ant» iSacfc. 

distant altar, the many lights, the choir in 
its place, and the vast kneeling throng of 
men and women, made a scene long to be 
remembered. 

It was lovely to hear the grand vol- 
ume of sound, as the hymn, " Weary of 
earth and laden with my sin," rolled out 
from all those hearts; a friend with me 
was singing bass; I said: "Sing the air; 
all are singing it," which at once he did. 
It seemed impertinent to take another 
part than the very soul itself, the distinc- 
tive melody. In such congregational sing- 
ing there was a certain assertion, and at 
the same time a certain vagueness which 
belongs to real art, there was a positive 
form, but with it a blending of outline 
which eluded the ear, as the same quali- 
ties in a picture give pleasure to the eye. 

Of Knox-Little's preaching what can I 
say! Years have passed since I last heard 
him. A certain tender interest attaches 
to the moment when such a man appears 
before you once again. Was he changed ? 
Will he preach as well? I hope he is as 
powerful as ever. These are the thoughts 
which leap through the mind as he 
ascends the pulpit, as he kneels for 



Co ©nglanti ant) ISacfe. 121 

prayer, as he stands before you. Yes, 
there he was, the same slight figure, but 
a little increased in bulk ; the same black 
hair, but tonsured by the advancing 
years; the same earnest face; but above 
all the same grand sympathetic voice. 
Powerfully it rang out as the text was 
uttered: " Blow the trumpet in Zion, 
sanctify a fast, call a solemn assembly." 
For an hour he held us in his hands. He 
showed us glimpses of the great ques- 
tions of the day, of the duty and responsi- 
bility of the Church regarding them, and 
of our personal share in the whole mat- 
ter. A thrilled hush was over that con- 
gregation as the speaker came to the 
close of his impassioned peroration. I 
can remember none of it, but the effect 
of the whole is with me, capped and cli- 
maxed with the utterance of the last word 
in ecstatic tones, the Name of names, 
"Jesus." 

There was no concluding hymn or 
blessing from the altar; the preacher him- 
self, after a moment's pause, gave the 
benediction from the pulpit, and all was 
over. I rather liked this way. Here 
and there were kneeling figures, moved 



122 Co <£nglanti an* SBacfc, 

by the impassioned words, while the vast 
throng moved out with the impression of 
the sermon fresh and undisturbed in their 
hearts. 

It was a grand ending of my Ash 
Wednesday. 

Oxford, March 2, i8g2. 



Co ©nglanto antu ISacfc. 123 



XIX. 

I ATTENDED, by invitation, a meet- 
ing of the Church Congregational 
Music Association, held at the Church 
House, in Dean's Yard, Westminster, one 
day last week. Church House, as yet, is 
the fine old mansion now occupying the 
site hereafter to be covered by a more 
ecclesiastical pile. When the whole west 
end of Dean's Yard is duly filled with the 
projected magnificent building, it will be 
a worthy addition to that classic locality. 
How quaint and black and dingy Dean's 
Yard appears. You look across at the 
unpretending front, and see where the 
Dean of royal Westminster lives, and you 
rather rejoice that Archdeacon Farrar 
has a handsome Gothic bay window to 
look out of, and let in all that can be got 
of light, out of the grey London air. 

I was welcomed by the genial secre- 
tary, Mr. Griffiths, who remarked that 
though I had furtherest to come — from 



124 Co ©nglanfc antj ISacft. 

Chicago — I was jirst there. We soon 
had our meeting in full blast, presided 
over by Bishop Mitchinson, who remem- 
bered me, after the lapse of, perhaps, 
twenty years, since I visited him in Can- 
terbury. The report read gave an encour- 
aging outlook for this young society. 
The Bishop made an admirable address on 
the great need of reform in our Church 
music, and several took part most inter- 
estingly, in the discussion. 

There are several difficulties in the 
way of Church congregational music, 
much as it is to be desired. The first and 
chief est is, that to take part in Matins or 
Evensong, one must be able to turn the 
book readily, that is, find the places, and 
then there must be the power to read 
fluently and well, otherwise it will not be 
possible to take part even in the Psalter, 
when read, and much less when sung. 
An unvarying set of Sunday Psalms 
thoroughly well known, like the Venite 
or Canticles, might be learned, but the re- 
curring Psalms for the day present diffi- 
culties to the ordinary worshipper. The 
speed, too, of the chanting, with intri- 
cate harmonies and melodies, all are hin- 



Co <£nglanfc anti ISacfc. 125 

drances. I have never yet heard a clear, 
good congregational rendering of a chant; 
the nearest approach to it is the occa- 
sional singing of our own traditional Glo- 
ria in Excelsis as rendered by large 
bodies of voices in our conventions. This 
is slow, well known, and of simple har- 
monic construction, and limited range. I 
have recently looked over a book of new 
tunes here, and not five in the volume 
were capable of congregational render- 
ing. They were one succession of sus- 
pended harmonies, stimulating to a jaded 
professional ear, but confusing utterly to 
the simple layman in the divine art. It 
was an absolute relief to play over such 
a tune as St. Ann's, and feel the solid 
swing of its clear melody and straightfor- 
ward harmony. People can sing such 
tunes taken with lots of good, loud organ, 
a grave, steady well-marked time, and no 
fancy expression. 

People speak of the grand effect of 
the German chorale. It is got in this very 
way. The organist pulls out all his stops, 
the tune is familiar, the time slow, and 
the people sing in unison. Here is per- 
haps the real crux. English people, and 



126 Co <£nglanfc an* 13acfc. 

Americans also, love to sing in harmo- 
nies. Let them do so, I say, but let the 
harmonies be as simple as possible, and 
always related to the diatonic scale. I 
was in St. Mary's, Nottingham, last Sun- 
day evening — a noble church, and grand 
congregation. Only in one chant was the 
effect full, for the people tried to sing, and 
that was a simple chant to Nunc Dimittis, 
by Blow, in E minor. That chant was 
joined in all over the church, while the 
others, intricate and involved, were merely 
muttered by the people. So in the hymns, 
"Jesus, lover of my soul" was taken too 
fast, and the last hymn, to a simple, 
though sentimental tune, was joined in 
heartily. The Communion service prop- 
erly and simply set, forms the best basis 
for congregational singing, because the 
principal parts never vary, that is, the 
Kyrie, Credo, Sanctus, etc., and Gloria 
in Excelsis. The responses, likewise, are 
always the same. 

In all Church services the choir, as 
such, is a necessary adjunct, even if the 
choir be represented by one acolyte. 
Hence, a really perfect service ought to 
have priest, choir, and i^eople, in active 



2Fo (£ttglanti antJ ISacft. 127 

co-operation. I believe something like 
the following plan would improve our 
services in a congregational aspect: 

Let the opening part of Matins or 
Evensong be taken on a low note, and in 
unison, responses and all, to end of 
Venite. Let the Psalms be chanted, not 
choirwise, but by a single voice in the 
odd verses, answered by the full choir in 
the even verses. Let the congregation 
follow as they can, the full body of sound 
answering the single voice will give cour- 
age for their effort; but let all join in the 
recurring Gloria Pati'i, the organist 
making due pause for this united outburst 
of praise. I heard this effect produced at 
the Festival Service in St. Paul's when 
the full orchestra joined in with the 
choir, at the end of each recurring Psalm. 
On that occasion the Psalms were sung by 
the Cathedral Choir alone; other choirs 
present, with the orchestra, joining only 
in the Gloria Patri. Had the people 
been instructed to be silent in the Psalter, 
until each oft-repeated Gloria Patri, the 
effect would have been sublime. This 
plan recognizes, too, the grace of listen- 
ing devoutly to Church music; for 



i28 Co G^nglantf an* Bacfc. 

I am confident that the silent reading 
of the Psalms by the people as they are 
sung by the choir, is a most spiritual 
exercise and meditation, the recurring 
Gloria sung by all, comes then with 
heart and soul. The Te Deum and Can- 
ticles might be sung in like fashion, but 
as the Te Deum ends with the odd verse, 
" O Lord, in Thee, etc.," that verse might 
be well repeated by entire congregation 
and choir, like the ancient ■pneuma. Four 
simple settings of the Credo, of which 
Merbecke should be one, would give 
variety and stability to the Communion 
service; Sanctus might follow the same 
rule, while the Agnus and Benedictus 
might be left generally to the choir. 

One must recognize that choirs are a 
necessary adjunct of divine service; con- 
gregational music must not usurp their 
place, while ample opportunity for con- 
gregational music must be given by 
choirs in stately, well marked, simple 
hymns, chants, and responses. 

Oxford, March j, 1892. 



Co (^ttglanTi attti $3&ck. 129 



XX. 

MY first Sunday in Oxford, this 
visit^ gave me such pleasure that I 
must give in detail its many delights. It 
opened with an early Celebration at St. 
Barnabas, where was a goodly number of 
communicants, and a reverent service. I 
hoped to have attended the later Celebra- 
tion at this church, when Fr. Maturin 
was to be the preacher, but the historic 
Bampton Lecture at the historic St. 
Mary's, proved too strong a counter at- 
traction. To St. Mary's then, I went, 
and was fortunate enough to meet one of 
the Heads of Houses at the door, who saw 
that I had an excellent seat, in a privil- 
edged place, near the pulpit. 

There are few more interesting sights 
in Oxford than the delivery of those 
Bampton Lectures. Each annually re- 
curring course witnesses to the generous 
spirit of the Rev. John Bampton, canon 
of Salisbury, who founded them many 



i3° Co ©nglantr ant> 23acfc. 

years ago. The scene in itself is ever 
fresh and attractive. The church of St. 
Mary the Virgin, Oxford, is divided by 
the organ screen into choir and nave. 
The latter is essentially a preaching 
place; a great gallery occupies the west 
end and north side; here the undergradu- 
ates sit, a goodly company — to me, ever 
a fair sight, pathetic and inspiring in its 
outlook and prospects. Underneath the 
galleries, and in every available space, 
are seats for whoever can get them, while 
the great nave space is set apart for the 
college dons of various grades. In the 
center of the north side of the nave, fac- 
ing the south, is a high seat for the vice- 
chancellor; and directly opposite is the 
historic pulpit, where the best brain of 
Oxford has stood up to teach from that 
" Word " whose open page is blazoned 
on the arms of the university: Domifius 
illuminatio mea. Silently and quietly, 
as English congregations can do so well, 
sit that great assembly, awaiting the 
formal entrance of the vice-chancellor, 
the distinguished Officers of Oxford, the 
preacher of the day, and their retinue. 
Looking down on the great throng from 



Co ©nglaitti anti ISacfc, 131 

the choir screen, are the little choristers 
whose duty it is to lead the singing. They 
are to help in the highest function of 
all, higher than even a Bampton Lecture, 
which is the praise and glory of God; 
but their sweet young faces show no 
consciousness of their mission; haply they 
know it not, and in this, their innocent 
ignorance, may they not approach the 
unimpassioned service of the very angels ? 

At last the silence and our own brood- 
ing thoughts are broken by the rising of 
all from their seats as the procession 
enters, heralded by vergers and others. 

All are clad in their robes of office, but 
in grave black. As it is Lent, the gor- 
geous red gowns are not used, such as 
once I saw in summer term, when years 
ago I heard Pusey preach. 

The preacher on this occasion is 
Bishop Barry. He at once enters the 
pulpit; all kneel for a silent prayer, and 
stand to sing that hymn which always 
moves me: " Rock of ages cleft for me." 
It rolls out grandly, swelled by the vast 
mass of men's voices. I sing away on 
the first verse, but as I listen to the 
second in its great subdued fullness, I 



132 3Fo ^nglantf anti iSack. 

cannot restrain my tears. How glorious 
is congregational melodic singing as sung 
by men! It is like Wagnerian brasses, 
doing what nothing else can do. There 
is no other service but the reading by the 
preacher of the quaint Bidding Prayer, a 
lovely relic of the past, ever fresh and 
fitting for these times. All the petitions 
for which we are to pray are recounted 
duly, and then, all kneeling, is said that 
sum of all prayers, " Our Father." 

The line of thought indicated by the 
preacher was, that as the Law was a 
schoolmaster to bring us to Christ, so 
science with its law was a servant to 
bring us to the knowledge of a living 
One, the incarnate God. 

I sometimes think that this constant 
battle and apology — well enough in a 
lecture and in a place like this Oxford 
— seems sadly out of place in the aver- 
age pulpit; one does hear too much of it 
everywhere. The general open teaching 
of the Church should always be posi- 
tive dogma and definite detail as to duty. 
This is the shepherd's work, to provide 
food and indicate due restraint. 

Bishop Barry uttered his lecture in 



Co ©ngianfc an* ISacft. 



grand style. There were many noble 
passages; perhaps if fault there was, it 
was that all was on one splendid height. 
It kept me closely interested for its hour, 
and then the benediction from the pulpit 
dismissed us all. 

From St. Mary's, down the " High," 
over Magdajen Bridge I went, and on to 
Cowley Iron church. We entered as 
Father Hall was concluding his sermon, 
and found ourselves in time for the latter 
part of the choral Celebration. There 
was no pause after Christ's Church Mil- 
itant prayer here, and a reverent congre- 
gation heartily joined through all, to the 
close. I hope I shall see the new church 
built at Cowley. The old Iron church 
has many tender memories, but a proper 
setting for such services and such preach- 
ing is sadly needed. The grand site on 
Iffley Road stands ready for occupancy, 
and I am sure that American Church- 
men owe many a debt to Father Hall 
and the Society of St. John the Evangelist, 
which offerings for the new church here 
would gracefully acknowledge. Of the 
dinner succeeding at Cowley, of the 
sweet free hours in the common room, 



134 Co <£nglant» ariti 3Sadt. 

where Fathers Page, Maturin, and Hall, 
were present, with many others; of the 
hours in the chapel, of the pleasant chat 
resumed again in the library, I can but 
give a glimpse, and pass on at once to our 
afternoon walk to Iffley church. 

The whole sky was overcast with in- 
digo clouds, giving a tender light upon 
the brown landscape, just the setting for 
that gray tower and antique church, dat- 
ing from King Stephen. The vicar met 
us within the walls, and pointed out the 
rich Norman arches, and all the other 
features of this quaint building. But old 
as the church was, the hoary life of the 
great yew tree in the churchyard seemed 
more awful and venerable. How sweet 
it was to wander among the graves, pale 
with snowdrops, and here and there 
gleaming with the joyous gold of the 
crocus. Having to be back to Oxford for 
Evensong at five, we soon turned our 
steps thitherward. The trees, the cot- 
tages, the clouds, the distant tender lines 
of the landscape, the rosy children by 
the wayside, the peaceful groups of peo- 
ple out for a walk like ourselves, the 
quaint, gnarled old couple in the comical 



Co <&nglanfo ant* ^t3artt. 135 

old cart drawn by a most diminutive don- 
key, all gave us something to look at, 
and laugh at too, perhaps, until we were 
once more at Magdalen Bridge, and 
turned in at New College, where we 
heard Evensong in grandest Anglican 
style. 

But before doing this we had a lovely 
turn or two in the college gardens, to 
occupy our time until the chapel was 
open; lovely spot, with the old ivy- 
covered walls of mediaeval Oxford form- 
ing its boundary on one side, and the 
great Gothic pile of the college buildings 
the other, while in the midst are stately 
trees and evergreens, green sward and 
flower beds, where fairy primroses are 
asleep, waiting for the sunshine to kiss 
them into life. 

The service was the splendid and 
sombre Walmsley in D minor; spoiled for 
me because I was under the organ in the 
ante-chapel. The anthem was from Men- 
delssohn, including " If with all your 
hearts," and the quartette, " Cast thy 
burden upon the Lord," all sung angelic- 
ally. The best part of the service was 
the hymn, " When I survey the won- 



136 Co <$nglant! ant* IBacfc, 

drous cross," sung after Evensong by the 
choir and all the students. This was fol- 
lowed by the blessing, and this again by 
Stainer's sevenfold Amen, sung, I do 
think, even better than at St. Paul's; and 
so, after that solemn hush which follows 
such deep emotions, the organ thundered 
forth, and all the students, clergy, and 
others, surpliced as they were, crowded 
out into the ante-chapel, sitting about to 
listen to the concluding music of the 
great organ. 

A quiet evening, after all this day, was 
enjoyable. Even Father Hall, preaching 
in a church near by, could not entice us 
out from our fireside. Cold as the outer 
air was, we could not help opening our 
windows as the night wore on, to let in 
the clangor of the bells from the tower 
of St. Giles's near by, which in their 
many changes from half past eight to after 
nine o'clock, seemed to bid us a musical 
good night. 

Oxford, March 6, 1892. 



Co <£nglantJ anti $5acfc. 137 



XXI. 

A DAY in Oxford brings with it 
many delights. I know not of any 
place which so satisfies a reflective nature, 
one that can be touched with the glory 
of the past, the vigor of the present, and 
the splendid promise of the future. 

We rambled about, my friend and I, 
and cunningly he would bring me to 
points of picturesque advantage, where on 
either hand some graceful piece of archi- 
tecture would emphasize the vista. One 
such lovely spot is to stand on the 
" High," opposite the Schools Building, 
and see on one hand St. Mary's spire and 
on the other the lovely tower of Magda- 
len College, with the graceful sweep of 
the noblest street in Europe stretching in 
between. 

Another such was to stand outside of 
Canterbury gate, at the corner of Merton 
Lane and Oriel Lane, with Merton 



138 Co (SnglantJ ana IBacft. 

Tower on one hand and St. Mary's spire 
once more on the other. 

Again what a charm it was to watch 
the glimpses of the colleges as seen, now 
in one grouping, now in another yet 
more beautiful than before, framed in by 
the noble trees, or in combination with 
each other, and more humble, but ever 
picturesque, structures of Oxford. 

We went calling from college to col- 
lege, in through quadrangle after quad- 
rangle, under time-worn arches, into 
rooms piled high with books, brooded 
over by gentle ease and persistent appli- 
cation and steadfast, unselfish work. 

Our afternoon's calling done, we passed 
through Christ Church, and down the 
meadow "walk to the river, where a boat 
race was to come off at half past four. 
The day was a trifle chilly, snow flakes 
were in the air, but that did not deter the 
thinly-clad and bare-kneed students from 
their sport. Bright and fresh they looked 
as they crowded the barges, gay with 
bunting, and trooped along the banks 
on either side. The crews dropped down 
the river in their slender shells to the 
starting point, and soon the beginning of 



Co <£ttglatttf anfc tSacft. 139 

the race was announced by the enthu- 
siastic shouts of the impetuous crowd, 
cheering the onward speeding crafts. 
On the boats came in grand style, while 
the excited students on the shore kept 
even pace, urging their favorites by 
enthusiastic shouts. 

The sky was an English winter sky, 
but the over-hanging clouds were not 
without their beauty. The curving 
stream, the dashing boats, the gay colors 
flying, the crowd of generous and splen- 
did fellows absorbed in the vigor of the 
effort, made a charming picture. When 
all was over, the crowd trickled off 
through the winding paths and up the 
meadow walk, adding continued interest 
to ever attractive Oxford. 

In the evening, we went to St. Bar- 
nabas to hear the first of a series of Lent 
lectures by Father Maturin. There was 
the same crowd as on Ash Wednesday, 
earnest and attentive. The service con- 
sisted of a Litany of Repentance, sung 
kneeling, a hymn, and the sermon, and 
such a sermon! But first, I must tell of 
Father Maturin. He looks well and 
strong, and it seems to me that his voice 



140 €o ^nglanti antJ iSactt, 

is more rich and full than ever. A hush 
fell over that congregation as he gave 
out his text in the mellowest of tones, 
but thrilling to the very core: "What 
I would, that do I not; but what I hate, 
that I do." 

For nearly an hour he kept us stilled 
with beating hearts, as he showed us our- 
selves in our sinning freedom, and in our 
almost despairing remorse at the sins 
which we do, but hate; and then with 
sympathetic and gentlest words, he 
showed us how we may do better, 
through love of Him in whose strength 
we could battle On and on against our 
faults. I never heard a sermon which 
more forcibly showed the inside of one's 
heart, the struggles and despairs of ex- 
perience, or which sounded out in such 
trumpet-tones the necessity for effort, and 
the assurance of victory to all who strive 
to follow in love the teachings of the 
Master. 

One short Collect and the benediction 
from the pulpit, pronounced with pathetic 
tenderness over that deeply-moved audi- 
ence, brought all to a close. 

What follows is not germane to the 



&o ©nglanft ant) ^acft. 141 

foregoing, but it may as well be said here 
as elsewhere. 

One often finds in England such hazy 
views about the American Church, and 
this in most unexpected quarters, that 
one longs to give to our brethren, juster 
notions and wider conceptions as to our 
mission in the United States. 

To a true Churchman, no condition of 
the Church since the time of Constantine 
presents a more interesting study than 
our position in America; a Church abso- 
lutely free from State control, in the 
usual sense of that idea, witnessing in the 
most primitive fashion for the verities of 
the Faith and the divine constitution of 
the Church, "in the face of the newest 
development of material progress and 
assertion. Ours are the problems of the 
first centuries, to win in later times a new 
world for Christ. 

Surely in this central Oxford there 
ought to be some witness of that mission 
of the American Church, some central 
bureau of information which would be 
ready and able to disseminate such infor- 
mation, and some opportunity of showing 
the Church existing as separated from 



142 Co ^nglanti anti 2Bacfc* 

governmental attachment, entirely and 
absolutely a spiritual creation. Ought 
there not to be here some representative 
institution of the American Church, itself 
witnessing to its character, its mission, its 
works, and its progress? With these 
thoughts in mind, I have fancied that a 
Seabury House here in this central Ox- 
ford, with its resident priests, its own 
chapel where the American rite should be 
followed, its courses of lectures, and other 
aids of a social nature for the dissemina- 
tion of true views of the American 
Church, would be of immense importance 
and of great use to the Church of Eng- 
land and ourselves in this great center 
of influence, Oxford. - 

This useful project might be com- 
menced in a modest fashion, and, I believe, 
would soon attract to itself manifold 
gifts, the grateful offerings of friends at 
home and travelers abroad, happy at find- 
ing their own home in the Old Home; 
while it would also be a center of use- 
ful influence for the many Englishmen 
deeply interested in American affairs, so- 
cial, commercial, political, and spiritual. 

Oxford, March u, i8gi. 



Co ^nglantJ anti 13aclu 143 



XXTI. 

I HAVE been to Keble College chapel 
, for a Sunday evening service, and was 
much edified. We had a charming ser- 
mon from the Rev. Mr. Lock, one of the 
contributors to Lux ]\ fundi. His theme 
was the selfishness of sin and the unself- 
ishness of love, or the will to live self- 
ishly, which is sin, and the will to live 
unselfishly, which is love. It was a sweet, 
tender appeal to the better impulses of 
the young men. 

The students presented a most inter- 
esting appearance. The custom is that 
on Saturdays, Sundays, and Saints' Days, 
all shall wear surplices; As all stood in 
their places in that beautiful chapel, 
"clothed with white robes," it seemed 
like an act of special dedication to the 
service of Almighty God, a consecration 
of self, of youth, of talent, of power, of 
all the future, to high and noble purposes. 
Keble College chapel is quite unlike 



144 Co <£nglanti anti 3i5acfc. 

any other in Oxford. It is a modern pre- 
sentation of the antique spirit. It glows 
in color from the stained glass high up 
on either side and at either end, from the 
beautiful arrangement of colored brick, 
variegated marble, yellow Caen stone, 
and dark green columns. It is one plain 
parallelogram of about one hundred and 
twenty-five feet long, thirty-five feet 
wide, and ninety-five feet high, divided 
into six bays, three of which form the 
nave, one the choir, and two the sanctu- 
ary. The lofty walls are arcaded and 
divided into panels by clustering col- 
umns, which tower up and form the in- 
terlacing vaulting of the high embowered 
roof. The windows are thirty feet or so 
from the floor, and the wall spaces 
beneath are filled in with pictured mosa- 
ics, or frescoes in that style. It would 
occupy too much space to give in detail 
all this imagery; suffice it to say that the 
entire gospel story, from creation to re- 
demption, is depicted in the nave and 
choir, while over the altar is a glorious 
representation of our Lord, enthroned in 
the midst of the seven golden candle- 
sticks. 



Co ©nglantj anti $3ack. 145 

The whole aspect of the chapel is 
noble, generous, and worshipful. The 
lamp of loving sacrifice has been aflame 
in its inception and construction, and it 
breathes the spirit of a present love, giv- 
ing new form to the ancient faith. 

To some tastes the place presents a 
certain crudeness of form and assertive- 
ness of color, rather unpleasant. It may 
indeed be called shocking, but perhaps it 
is to provoke this very shock that the soft 
aestheticism of half tones and dreamy sug- 
gestions have been entirely set aside. It 
seems to say anathema maranatha to all 
sentimentality and haziness either about 
conduct or dogma, and so, the form is 
plain four-square, and the lines deter- 
mined, and the colors pronounced. 

The music to the Psalter was Grego- 
rian, and quite well done. At times there 
was a slight tendency to want of true 
tune, a common fault where Gregorian 
music is sung, as it so often is, with full 
voice, and none of that restraint of tone, 
which gives such good results in An- 
glican chanting. 

The canticles were sung to manu- 
script compositions especially composed 



146 Co <&nglanto anfc ISaciL 

for Keble College by Dr. Lloyd. Dig- 
nified in character, easy and yet interest- 
ing to sing, they would form an acquisi- 
sition to our own seminaries 

After the services a number of the 
students remained to listen to the organ 
voluntary at the close. This gave us the 
opportunity to take in the whole interior 
from another point of view. It is indeed 
a splendid structure, having a grand spa- 
ciousness about it, truly dignified, per- 
fectly simple in its severe plan, but made 
graceful and beautiful by the high vaulted 
roof, the pictured walls, the brilliant win- 
dows, and the well-placed altar, properly 
furnished. 

The warden of Keble received us in 
the most gracious manner, inviting us to 
tea in his beautiful house. While I sat 
there my mind turned back to another 
room, as stately, if not as spacious — the 
noble study of dear DeKoven, resplendent 
with its books, its pictures, and his own 
gracious presence. One cannot but ad- 
mire the courage of faith, which endeav- 
ored to reproduce on American soil, the 
great institutions which here have place, 
backed up by centuries of splendid ad- 



Co <£nglant» artti tSacft* 147 

vance, rich with accumulated endow- 
ments, showing on every hand, peace, 
plenty, and magnificence. Dear Racine, 
Vigeat Radix. 

My morning was spent at St. Barna- 
bas', at the High Celebration. I looked 
with longing eyes at the long lines of 
school children marshalled to their places 
in church for this service. I passed them 
on my way to church and watched them 
as they entered. In they came with per- 
fect order, quietly and reverently, and 
when in their places, at a given signal, 
all knelt for private prayer. It was beau- 
tiful to hear these little people sing Mer- 
becke's service, the Kyrie, the Credo, and 
the Sanctus, as well as other parts also, 
in which they joined heartily. All over 
the church the sound of congregational 
praise was heard, and the devotion of 
the people was truly Catholic and in- 
spiring. Father Maturin was preacher, 
but a rigid rule which restricts the ser- 
mon to twenty minutes, I imagine rather 
restrained the free flow of his genius. 
The whole service which included five 
hymns was over in one hour and a quar- 
ter. Hence of course no one dreamed 



148 &o <£nglanti an* ISatk. 

of retiring before the close of the wor- 
ship. 

A night sermon was announced at 
Cowley Iron church to begin at quarter 
to nine, by Father Maturin. Thither we 
went through the moonlight, lingering 
among the effective bits which came in 
our way as we passed along. We paused 
by the Bodleian, with the Camera and St. 
Mary's before us; and then lounged over 
the balustrade of Magdalen bridge, watch- 
ing the lights on the river, and the deep 
shadows of the trees. The Lecture over, 
but, with its John-Baptist-like refrain ring- 
ing in our hearts, we walked back once 
more through the moonlit streets. Magda- 
len Tower and the spire of St. Mary's 
seemed like spirits of the past; a thin haze 
melted their upper outlines into viewless 
air. They did not seem creations merely 
of stone and mortar, but spiritual pres- 
ences, ready to speak to us of all that 
they had seen, if we could be alone with 
them, and capable of hearing with our 
mortal ears, their wondrous story. On 
we passed through the dark shadows, and 
broad moonlit spaces to our rest. 

Oxford, March /j, i8g2. 



Co ©nglanfc anfi 2Sacfc. 149 



XXIII. 

LET me give you a few little sketches 
of another day in Oxford. Come 
with me then, first to a breakfast with an 
illustrious name in the University. The 
hour is quarter to nine. We are received 
most graciously in that sweet, modest 
way which seems a part of the splendid 
training of those great souls. They know 
so much, it makes them humble and gen- 
tle. Soon our little group is made com- 
plete, and we take our places in the spa- 
cious, quiet room, with its pictures of 
departed worthies looking down upon us, 
and its lovely outlook upon " a garden 
enclosed," which, as Bacon says, is a true 
refreshment of the spirit. 

Pleasantly and profitably for both 
body and soul, the hour passes. There 
are flashes of genial criticism upon men 
and books, upon great events, upon com- 
ing questions. The best side of every 
one comes out; wit provokes wit, and 



i5° ^o <&nglanti antr ISacfL 

thought enkindles thought. There are, 
too, remembrances of the past. Pusey, 
Newman, Keble, Mozley, Williams — of 
each there is some touch of life, some 
anecdote which makes them live again. 
There is no break or stop until the time 
comes to say adieu, and duty calls our 
host to other fields, while I am left to 
wander forth to further pleasures. 

This comes in an afternoon excursion 
to a spot coeval with Augustine. My 
friend and I take train for some miles 
out from Oxford, and then tramp on for 
miles to our destination. The way is over 
well-kept roads, on and on, by village 
churches into which we enter for a mo- 
ment's rest and prayer, and then to foot 
again and onward. Sharp and keen the 
air is, but birds are singing in the trees 
and hedge rows, and high in air the lark 
utters his impassioned notes, which stop 
our steps as we watch the little speck he 
makes against the sky, and note his sud- 
den downward flutter to the earth. " Is 
that the lark? " my friend asks; " it is the 
first time I have heard it;" to which I say, 
" Its song was the joy of my childhood." 

At last a turn of the road brings us 



Co ©ttpjanti anti $3acft. 151 

within sight of our destination. A gray 
tower, a long line of abbey roof, a cluster 
of red-tiled cottages, groups of stately 
trees, and distant hills, make up the pic- 
ture. Soon we are beneath the church's 
roof, but before this, we enter the vicar- 
age, where we are warmly welcomed by 
a friend who knows us both. It is the 
welcome of an American to Americans. 
We are at once at home. The American 
flag hangs over a portrait of Washington 
in the drawing room. Inserted in the 
picture is an autograph letter. On the 
mantel piece are portraits of Bishop Sea- 
bury and Bishop White; around are indi- 
cations of love perennial for the home 
across the water, dear to us all. 

At last we enter the grand old church, 
venerable in its Norman dignity, interest- 
ing in the evidence of transition, change, 
and renewal, not the least of which is its 
present condition of thorough life. Each 
day the Eucharist is celebrated, Matins 
are said, and Evensong rendered in choral 
fashion. I cannot give detail of architec- 
ture, but can tell of the long drawn nave, 
the chancel with the dignified altar and 
full complement of ornaments, of the sev- 



152 &o ©nglanti antJ SSacfc. 

eral altars, each properly furnished, the 
old effigies in battered stone, priests in 
vestments and knights in armor, all in 
the light of the evening sun. 

We wait for Evensong at six o'clock, 
which is sung by a choir of students from 
a missionary college close by ; among them 
are two negroes from Central Africa. 
The office is most reverently' conducted, 
and the music used was Gregorian. It 
was comforting to hear the low pitch 
of confession, Paternoster, and Creed, thus 
enabling the congregation to join in with 
ease and heartiness. The cold melodies 
of the ancient modes seemed exactly suit- 
able to that simple but august spot. 

After service we visited the missionary 
college, and took away with us the pleas- 
ant memory of the sweetest-faced young 
priest we ever saw, whose work lies there 
as instructor — his blessed work, far from 
the madding crowd, and great with possi- 
bilities for the onward progress of the 
Church of God. 

In these quiet spots we get a glimpse 
of that real power in apparent obscurity, 
which has its place in many such a condi- 
tion. 



Co <£nglanfi anti iSacfc. 153 

Once again we return to the vicarage 
for more social chat until the coming of 
our carriage to take us back to the rail- 
way station for Oxford. Quickly the 
time passed in that pleasant interchange of 
mutual acquaintances which travellers love 
to make with friends thus met. In that 
pleasant converse we learned incidentally 
that a most striking religious novel we read 
a year before, was written by a priest who 
lived, in the hamlet, the life of a recluse. 
It hardly seemed possible, but so it was. 
We learned further, too, that a gentle, deli- 
cate-looking cleric, to whom we had been 
introduced, wielded a pen of power and 
brilliancy, and that from this secluded 
spot went forth reviews and articles com- 
manding the profoundest attention and 
respect. 

So our day came to a close with our 
drive in a welcome closed-up carriage, un- 
der a moonlit sky, to our railway station, 
and so home. 

Oxford, March 16, 1892. 



i54 Co <£nglant» antj ISacfe* 



XXIV. 

MY days in Oxford drew all too rap- 
idly to a close. Each was opened 
with the daily Celebration at St. Barna- 
bas, or some other place, then there was 
the morning's work of reading, letter 
writing, or an occasional lecture, and then 
the afternoon ramble, ending up with 
Evensong at the Cathedral, Magdalen 
or New. 

Among my treats was a charming lec- 
ture from Sir John Stainer, on " Canonic 
Form," with vocal illustrations, given in 
the Sheldonian Theatre. The choir was 
made up of ladies and undergraduates, 
who sang con amoi'e the bits of early 
Italian Masses and other music used to set 
forth the master's lecture. 

I felt it a sort of special privilege to 
see and hear Stainer. His music for choir 
use seems to hit the happy combination 
of scholarly form, average difficulty and 
melodic interest, so necessary to come 



2To ©nglanti anti 33acft. 155 

within the power, ambition, and scope of 
the ordinary choir. I felt it also a sort of 
duty to go and , introduce myself to him 
after his lecture, and tell him that his 
music and himself were old friends, and 
that I was glad to see him and take him 
by the hand. He was standing on the 
stage above me as I spoke; the uncon- 
scious attitude which he at once assumed, 
crouching down upon one knee, so as to 
be face to face with me, was at once an 
illustration of his enthusiasm and his kind 
unaffectedness. 

From the Sheldonian Theatre it was 
but a step to the Bodleian library. What 
a grand, queer old place it is! You 
shudder at the thought of such treasures 
in a tinder-box of wooden floors and dry- 
as-dust shelving, hundreds of years sea- 
soning for a blaze, but you are reassured 
when you see a placard announcing that 
no artificial light or heat is ever permitted 
there, and that the direst vengeance is 
invoked upon any indiscreet person using 
the same for any purpose whatever. A 
great library impresses one like the Cata- 
combs, and it seems sacrilegious to do 
more than reverently look thereon, and 



15 6 &o <£nglanti antj 2Sacfc, 

then in one's littleness pass on, leaving 
the occupants, bones or books, to their 
sacred rest, or to the potent touch, which 
can make them live. So from a distance 
we looked at the readers and librarians 
and passed on. We took note, however, 
of one or two show things, placed out- 
side the charmed precincts of the inner 
bowels of the library, for the delectation 
of visitors like ourselves. Our eyes 
glanced over manuscripts and treasures of 
early printing from many years and 
many lands, but on one relic we lingered 
with peculiar interest. It was an un- 
rolled fragment of papyrus on which was 
written a portion of the Iliad. It was 
taken from the tomb of an Egyptian lady 
in the Fayoum; and there, by the living 
page of Homer, lay a tress of the braided 
hair of her who read the words before 
me; and yet beyond was the skull which 
sheltered the human brain, and gave 
orbit to the eyes which saw and the mind 
which knew. It seemed a wrong thing 
to have that head there, but perhaps we 
deem that when people have been such an 
unconscionable time dead, they have for- 
feited their further privileges to respect 



2To ©nglanti anti "$3acfc. 157 

and reverence. Mummies generally seem 
to have a bad time of it. I see that skull 
still, so fair and round, and the braided 
tress and the page of Homer. 

I walked on through the great corri- 
dors of the upper hall, filled with curios, 
books, and the pictures of famous men 
and women; a little gift of Archbishop 
Laud attracted me. It was an Arabian 
astrolabe to take the position of the stars; 
another near it, arranged for the latitude 
of Morocco, was the gift of Selden. They 
brought up visions of " curious arts," of 
horoscopes and astrologers, and those who 
know the heavenly bodies. I asked my- 
self, if sun spots affect our weather, why 
may not planets affect the subtler essences 
of our being? All things inhere in sub- 
stance, and why may not substance act on 
substance through the vast mystery of the 
universe? 

At last, Saturday, the nineteenth of 
March, came, and I had to get me to Lon- 
don to preach at the Savoy on Sunday, so 
the afternoon saw me regretfully in the 
train, sweeping away from that brave 
concourse of spires, and domes, and flood- 
encircled groves, which make up Oxford. 



158 Co ©ngiantr antr ISacfc. 

What must this last sweet glimpse be to 
those who know they never will return — 
" the spires and towers of Oxford, from 
the railway! " But before I leave, I must 
say that among the many pleasant mem- 
ories of Oxford, few stand out Math more 
vividness than those of my little visits to 
the college common rooms. There is a 
delightful seclusion in them, and a cheer- 
ful companionship which is most inspir- 
ing. 

You have dined in Hall and enjoyed 
every moment of it — the genial hospital- 
ity, the good fare, the free open talk; but 
after all those good things, something bet- 
ter yet awaits you ; you are ushered into 
the sacred privacy of the common room, 
and there an hour, or more is spent in 
genial leisure, wise and playful talk, and, 
with it all, the inner man is by no means 
forgotten . 

In one pleasant room, dark with its 
panelled sides and ceiling, before its ample 
fire-place were ranged in semi-circle aline 
of chairs and tables, all facing towards the 
altar of friendship, the blazing hearth. 

Surely such a custom of friendly and 
scholarly intercourse must have an excel- 



Co <£nglantj antj ISacft. 159 

lent influence upon the lives of all. One 
here learns how men may differ as to 
view, but be the best of friends, how they 
may be intent in the little circle of their 
own pursuits, but yet know also, full well, 
of that greater circle of human sympathies 
and immortal aims which embraces all 
souls within its limits. Such intercourse 
must refine, broaden and enlarge those 
who are within its genial power. 

I should like to see such a common 
room for the Professors in our seminaries, 
where they could have daily social inter- 
course, and, for a brief hour, at least, be 
removed from carking care, and the in- 
tense consciousness of the individual bur- 
den. 

Another room, which will dwell in my 
mind, was large and handsome. The 
wax tapers upon the well-polished ma- 
hogany did not dispel the friendly gloom 
of the dark corners, nor bring into promi- 
nence the features of the portraits upon 
the walls. Glimpses of the past they 
seemed, and not without a living sympa- 
thy with the geniality of the hour. What 
a picture it all made — the leaping lights 
of the great coal fire, the grave gowned 



160 Co <£nQlantJ ana ISacfc. 

figures, sitting or standing, the table itself 
a picture, and the silent servitors, ever 
moving with soft tread, and meeting read- 
ily every want. 

Happy hospitality of dear Oxford, this 
much, at least, we may say of it, drawing 
aside for a moment the veil, and letting 
out between its antique folds the evi- 
dences of friendship and good feeling, ever 
perennial among noble souls. 

London , March ig, i8g2. 



Co ©tiglanti antJ i3acft. 161 



XXV. 

AFTER leaving Oxford, I was in- 
duced to add a few days to my last 
Sunday in London, by the announcement 
of some choice music to be performed in 
the succeeding week. Beethoven's Post- 
humous Quartette was to be produced, 
with Joachim as violinist, at the Monday 
popular concerts, in St. James' Hall. 
Bach's great Mass in B minor was to be 
given at the same place, by the Bach 
Choir, on Tuesday evening, and the new 
Requiem Mass, by Dvorak, would be 
performed under the leadership of Barn- 
aby, with choir and orchestra of one 
thousand persons, at the Royal Albert 
Hall, on Wednesday night. Was I not 
on a vacation? Ought I not to embrace 
the opportunity ? I concluded to do so, 
and, with this intent, stayed in London. 
My Sunday had again its beginning at 
the Abbey at eight in the morning, then at 
half-past eleven, to the Royal Chapel of 



162 Co ©nglanfc anti ISacft* 

the Savoy, where Canon Curteis received 
me most cordially, and where again I re- 
newed my acquaintance with the choir, 
arrayed in their purple cassocks, girt with 
crimson cords, and surplices ever flying 
open down the front, making due display 
of the royal colors. 

The services in this quaint place were 
severely simple. The choir sang, in uni- 
son, single chants to the Venite and 
Psalter, double chants to the canticles; the 
Celebration was without either choir or 
music, but with great dignity and solem- 
nity. The chapel has the organ at the 
west end, on the main floor ; this, with the 
simple chanting of the choir, induced and 
aided the good congregational singing. 

My afternoon was spent at St. Nicho- 
las Cole Abbey, one of Wren's old city 
churches, on Queen Victoria Street. I 
saw that Mozart's Requiem was to be 
sung there at quarter past three. I found 
the place well filled on my arrival, but the 
quick eye of Canon Shuttleworth, the 
energetic incumbent, soon espied me, and 
at once I had a choice seat in the rec- 
tor's pew in front. I could look around 
ere the performance began, and * note 



Co (^nglantj anh Bacft. 163 

every spot filled with city people, clerks, 
shop women, workmen, all intent on the 
music, and reverent in their quiet de- 
meanor. 

The choir was composed of men and 
women, and a few instrumentalists were 
in the organ loft at the west end. When 
the clergy entered with surplices on, the 
congregation arose, a short prayer was 
said, with the Lord's Prayer, then after 
the short rap of the baton, the music 
proceeded without break to the end. 
Canon Shuttleworth conducted with vigor 
and ability, arrayed in his surplice and 
Oxford hood. The music was quite fairly 
done, wonderfully well considering the 
place and the material. The orchestral 
players were from the East London 
Music Halls, and it is pathetic to know 
that they absolutely refuse pay for their 
services on those Sunday afternoons in 
church; they are glad, they say, to help 
on, and to play in such music, which they 
never could use otherwise. At the close 
of the Requiem, which was printed in 
Latin and English for the use of the peo- 
ple, the whole congregation joined in the 
hymn, " O God, our help in ages past," 



1 64 &o ^nglanft anti iSacfc, 

to the grand " Old St. Ann's " tune. It 
was glorious. I fancied that as the choir 
sat and listened, they must have felt, as I 
did, that that simple strain outweighed in 
magnificence all the music that went be- 
fore. It was nobly sung by lusty Eng- 
lish throats. 

The performance over, I had a little 
chat with the incumbent, who told me 
that when he took the church, there were 
scarcely six people in attendance; now it 
is well attended and crowded on special 
occasions. " Come," said he, " and I will 
show you our club. It is for men and 
women, and the only one of its kind in 
London." After a climb of some steep 
stairs, we found ourselves on the third 
and fourth floors of a warehouse, nicely 
fitted up for social purposes, and well 
filled with people. The large drawing 
room looked a cozy place to lounge in, 
its large and irregular shape divided off 
by screens into sociable-looking nooks. 
In the shadow of one sat a good-looking 
young woman intent on her book, at ease 
in her chair before a good fire. At the 
end of the room was a raised stage, with 



<ZTo <£nglantr attfc ISacfc. 165 

scenery and footlights for dramatic per- 
formances. 

Upstairs further we went and peeped 
into the smoking room, blue with the fra- 
grant weed. Thence we went to the sup- 
per room, where a crowd of " pale clerks " 
and their lady friends were having a lay 
out of tea and cake. We happened in 
just at the moment when the " omnipo- 
tent British penny," in the shape of 
" thruppence apiece," was being collected 
from each. 

What new phases of Church work and 
life it all sets forth. From shops and 
warehouses, utterly isolated in their Sun- 
day seclusion, those lone atoms of human- 
ity are garnered in and given a cheery 
word and some social pleasures. The 
rector moved among them a genial friend, 
a helper in this, their organized work to 
help and cheer each other. 

Of the good, kind hospitality which 
came to me in the parson's own home 
hard by, a cozy nest in the very heart of 
this London, I can but speak. A glimpse 
of domestic life, of beautiful children and 
well-ordered home, is always a thing of 
joy to the traveler. 



166 Co <£ngiantf anti 9Sacfc. 

As I was on music bent, I gave up the 
evening to an excursion to the northeast 
of London, where I had heard that the re- 
sponses and Gregorian Psalms were won- 
derfully given in a Dominican Priory. I 
was not disappointed and found the place 
in good time, and the music to be all that 
it was represented. The monks' voices, 
the choir men, and the chorister boys, en- 
tirely without accompaniment, produced 
marvellous effects. I could not make out 
the service very well; possibly it had 
Dominican peculiarities. The Psalms 
were sung antiphonally, one side in uni- 
son, the other in harmonies, with the 
treble voices taking beautiful Faux Bour- 
bon parts. The side which took the uni- 
son part always stood up while the other 
side remained seated, and so alternately 
from side to side through the Psalms. 
Responses and Aniens were all given in 
this free manner without organ. Some 
of the antiphons, as sung by the Fathers, 
sounded quite like the efforts of Wagner. 
I did not see a soul about me pretending 
even to follow the service, either with 
book or posture; only at the Benediction 



Co (England anti $3acfc» 167 

after sermon was there a show of congre- 
gational interest. 

I came home on trams and omnibuses, 
through a very torrent of human life 
whose vortex seemed to be reached at 
Charing Cross. 

My next night, when Joachim per- 
formed, was a joy to be remembered. I 
must however hasten on from this to an 
account of the great work by Bach, the B 
Minor Mass, given by the Bach Choir, 
which I heard the next evening. The 
Bach Choir itself is worth seeing. It is 
composed of real lovers of music which 
taxes the intellect, the physical powers, 
and then the heart. It is a sort of music 
which gives not up its charms to careless 
wooers. The members did not look like 
this sort of people; they were serious, re- 
fined, genteel and reverent. It was pleas- 
ant to note their pleasant greetings of 
each other as they straggled into their 
places before the concert began. 

A certain tone of sadness was cast over 
the performance by little printed slips with 
mourning edge, placed upon the seats, in- 
forming the audience that the Dead March 
in Saul would be played as an opening 



168 Co (^nglantJ an* §Sacft. 

piece, in memory of the composer, Mr. 
Goring Thomas, who a few days before 
had, in a fit of mental aberration, cast 
himself headlong to death under the 
wheels of a locomotive. 

The work of Bach shows the tread of 
a giant, the tenderness of a true soul, and 
the heart of a faithful believer. The 
Kyrie was a great burst of confident 
pleadings for a known pardon and peace; 
the Gloria in Excelsis seemed the very 
joy of the heavens, and the Credo, in its 
every iteration of text, first gave elabora- 
tion to the faith there uttered, and then to 
the musical thought. I never heard so 
rapturous a setting in my life, and never 
expect to hear it excelled; so on it went 
through Sanctus, Benedicttis, and Agnus, 
to the grand triumphant close of Dona 
nobis -pacem. 

With the effrontery which gray hairs 
can give, I boldly shared my score with a 
dear English girl near me; I never saw 
her before, and may not ever again. We 
enjoyed every bar of the music, and, when 
the Benedictus was ended, she said to me 
with a very rapture of delight: " The 
Hosanna comes a^ain! " We were com- 



Co <£nglanti anti ISacft* 169 

pletely en rapport in the study of that 
great music, and when she rose to leave 
with her party, and bent her gracious 
head and thanked me for the pleasure I 
had given her, I felt as if we had known 
each other for years. It is indeed delight- 
ful to touch the chords of sympathy in 
kindred hearts, though utterly unknown 
to each other in the lower planes of ordi- 
nary life. This occurs so often in one's 
travels in railroad cars, by the wayside, or 
in galleries of art. 

On my way once to Oxford, I had a 
most delightful hour with two utter 
strangers. Our talk touched on all sorts 
of things, from Greek sculpture to eco- 
nomic questions of the present day. They 
were both Oxford men, and one of them 
hailed me heartily one day on the Wood- 
stock Road, weeks afterwards, as an old 
friend. 

But touching Bach's Mass, I must add 
one word more about the conductor, Dr. 
Villiers-Stanford. He quite charmed me 
with his gentle, quiet ways, and the gen- 
uine enthusiasm, always well restrained, 
with which he conducted. There were 
no frantic grimaces, no pantomime illus- 



i7o Co ©nglanti anti ISaciL 

trations or suggestions for orchestra or 
chorus, but a grave, gentle dignity 
throughout all. Dr. Villiers is a handsome, 
tall fellow, with his years yet young upon 
him. I could not but admire him as he 
glowed with pleasure while the stupend- 
ous work unfolded itself beneath his hand 
and before his eyes, when choir and or- 
chestra gave splendid utterance to the 
great thoughts 'of Bach. 

I noticed that the orchestra had in it 
some peculiar instruments, among them a 
long trumpet of most slender, shining 
build, but with a voice like a mighty an- 
gel, pure, strong and sweet. The sym- 
phonies, too, had most vocal effects, so that 
it really seemed as if reeds and brasses 
gave forth human tones. The whole per- 
formance, continuing through two hours 
and a half of solid work, was most mag- 
nificent. I must add one word more yet, 
and that is to speak of the solemn effect 
of the Dead March in Saul, as played 
before the performance. I never had 
heard it with orchestra, and it gave 
the touching composition an added charm, 
increased by the standing attitude of the 
players and the whole audience in that 



Co <&nglanti anti iSack. 171 

vast St. James' Hall, in memory of the 
sad death of Loring Thomas. 

The next night found me in the Royal 
Albert Hall, to hear Dvorak's Requiem. 
Let me warn my friends to be always on 
good time at that place. The spaces are 
so vast to get to your seat, that it almost 
seems a century before you reach it, espe- 
cially if the performance has already be- 
gun, as it had in my case. But what one 
loses in one way is gained in another. 
Those who were there in time could not 
have my experience of that vast hall as it 
burst upon my sight from the almost dizzy 
height where I had chosen my seat. I 
could look down on the great concourse 
of people, and the ordered ranks of the 
enormous choir. The ladies of the chorus 
were all dressed in white, one side having 
blue sashes from shoulder to waist; the 
other, red sashes in the same manner. 
This great mass of white touched w r ith 
color, and enclosed by the great back- 
ground of the men in evening dress, all 
against the silver gray organ pipes, made 
quite a solemn and stately picture. It 
suggested to me a kind of Egyptian mag- 
nificence. The statuesque, severe drapery 



172 &o <£nglanti anti iSacfc. 

of the singers carried out the effect. I 
could not see Barnaby distinctly, across the 
immense space, but was glad to see him 
even in this dim way. He handled the 
tremendous difficulties of the Requiem in 
a wonderful manner. That vast choir did 
its work splendidly; but I felt sure that 
our own Auditorium with the Apollo 
Club, and Tomlins, could produce it as 
well. The work itself is built upon a 
wailing theme of four notes, which sighs 
out its prayer in the first phrase, and then 
ever reiterates it, Dona eis requiem. The 
most noble effects are the reminiscences 
or reproductions of ancient Church song, 
recurring in solemn phrase. The text is 
illustrated throughout by the sound, and 
the orchestra is used as a vast tone pencil 
to fill in the background with lurid colors 
and awful forms. Verdi's Requiem I 
have heard, and Mozart's, the first the 
more dramatic, the second perhaps the 
more strictly melodic; but Dvorak's has a 
glowing magnificence all its own, sug- 
gesting the tremendous spaces of some 
vast cathedral, with kneeling multitudes 
and responsive choirs and priestly voices 



Co ©nglanti an* 13acfc. 173 

uttering ever in solemn tones: Requiem 
in etemain. 

Next morning I left London for a quiet 
visit with a dear friend, of which you will 
shortly hear. 

London, March 25, 1892. 



i74 Co <£nglartt* arttf Bacfc. 



i 



XXVI. 



HAVE had such a charming - visit 



111- 



of five days at B B 

eluding therein a lovely Sunday, that I 
must give you, as far as possible, the ben- 
efit of it all. Away then by train to the 
station, where a neat trap and smart liv- 
ery await us, and off we go through 
wooded scenes to our destination. We 
pass village after village, each with its 
cross-tipped church, until at last the noble 
tower and spire of B B sa- 
lutes us. We are received at the hospita- 
ble parsonage, and are soon at our ease 
before a fire in our bedroom, dressing for 
dinner. That pleasant meal, begun at 
half -past seven o'clock, is enjoyed in a 
large old hall, hung about with good pic- 
tures, and decorated with all manner of 
bric-a-brac. We are a small company, 
the young parson and myself tete-a-tete. 
There is much to talk about, our first 
meeting years ago, our accidental coming 



Co <£nglantj ano $5adt. 175 

together, years after, in New York, our 
common friends, our common antipathies, 
our likes and dislikes, our hopes, our ex- 
periences, our failures, our resolves. 

Dinner over, we jDass the rest of the 
evening in the spacious drawing-room, 
whose walls glow with artistic treasures. 
There hung a genuine Raphael, there a 
Giotto, there a Perugino, there a Mem- 
ling, old Florentine pictures with back- 
grounds of gold, flanked by Flemish 
tryptychs and quaint panels, while be- 
neath were rare old cabinets laden with 
curious glass and old china. Books too 
were in abundance, but the best thing 
there, to my mind, was the modest young 
owner of it all, heir to all this wealth, and 
of a noble line, earnest and enthusiastic in 
his work as a village parson. As an in- 
dication of that genuine love which comes 
into the heart of the true priest, I must 
tell you of a picture on his library man- 
tel-piece. It was a photo of a London 
policeman, a fair, good face of a stalwart 
steady man. " That," said my host, as 
he saw me looking at it, " is a picture of 
one of my young fellows, a dear good 
lad, now one of the picked men on duty 



176 Co ©nglanti ann $3acfc. 

on the Strand. He writes to me every 
fortnight." It warmed my heart to think 
of the two correspondents, the London 
policeman and his young rector in the 
country. 

Next morning I was at the handsome 
church for the daily Matins. Dainty and 
magnificent both, was the beautiful struc- 
ture. The tower, spire, and nave date from 
the thirteenth century and are in perfect 
preservation. The choir and chancel have 
been erected within the past few years, 
joining on with absolute harmony to the 
more ancient part. All has been put in 
the best order by Bodley, the great Eng- 
lish church architect. The church, though 
small, had a most noble effect, from the 
spacious windows in north and south 
aisles, in the choir, and in the clere-story. 
Mere verbal description of architectural 
detail seldom conveys a clear idea. Stand 
then in the nave and look at the choir 
end; you see a perfect rood screen, with 
the rood upon it and St. Mary and St. 
John ; over the altar is a rich gilt reredos 
with a quaint old German picture of the 
Ascension. On each side are rich hang- 
ings, above a glorious -window of perfect 



Co <£nglanti antj $3acfc* 177 

glass, while the altar has its proper orna- 
ments, and standard candelabras in addi- 
tion. The nave and choir are lit with 
candles held in chandeliers and candle- 
sticks of beaten iron, made in the village, 
thoroughly artistic. Before each choris- 
ter, on the desk is a tall taper. You can 
imagine then the effect of all this at night 
— a flood of light among the singers and 
the people, while in the high roof is 
gloom, except where a line of gold or a 
touch of color reflects back the lustre from 
below. 

The services on Sunday were a delight. 
The sweet bells called us to the early Eu- 
charist! Through the churchyard paths, 
from the village near came the little groups 
to the silent waiting church. It was good 
to kneel in the restful quiet of such a 
place and await the reverent Celebration. 

At eleven, the church was filled for 
choral Matins. What a rest it was to sit 
in the return stalls in our surplice, and have 
all done for us, and take no other part than 
that of a worshipper. Our turn, however, 
came afterwards, for we were put up to 
preach at night, and preach we did, and I 
fear too long, but the inspiration of time 



178 Co <£nglanfc ant* S3acfc, 

and place was irresistible; we forgot that 
the congregation expected to get home in 
good time for supper, the service begin- 
ning at 6 o'clock. That long sermon was 
rather on our conscience, until at night we 
got some relief from our host's butler, as 
he brought us, when we were in bed, a 
cheering and soothing posset for our cold, 
accompanying the same with the assuring 
and flattering remark: " That was a nice 
sermon you gave us to-night, sir; we all 
liked it." I turned in to sleep at peace 
with all mankind. 

The next day I had a drive of sixteen 
miles with my genial host, from one par- 
sonage to another. A snow shower had 
fallen during the night, but ere noon it had 
vanished. The sky was pure cobalt, well 
furnished with sumptuous masses of fleecy 
clouds. Young lambs by hundreds gam- 
boled in the pastures, a fresh green tint of 
new wheat was on the brown fields, and 
so we bowled along over good roads, by 
church after church, and village after vil- 
lage, until at last the spire of B B 

again came in sight and we were once 
more at home. 

I must speak also of the village school, 



Co ©nglantj anfc Back. 179 

with the organist school master and his 
assistants. Happy boys and girls in one 
long, picturesque, room, with its good ven- 
tilation and roaring fireplaces at each end. 
Happy little ones in the kindergarten de- 
partment, big with the importance of their 
momentous bead work and other weighty 
concerns. I must speak, too, of the quaint 
blacksmith shop, where I recognized sev- 
eral of the choir men and choristers, and 
revelled in the artistic beauty of iron deftly 
wrought into sanctuary lamps, chandeliers, 
candlesticks, and other objects useful for 
home as well as church. 

It was an added pleasure to my Satur- 
day, Sunday and Monday in this sweet 
place, to have a big batch of American 
letters handed me to read, before I was 
out of bed this morning. 

B B , March 28, 1892. 



180 Cc ©nglant* anti ISacfc. 



XXVII. 

MY stay in Brighton during Holy 
Week and Easter has been a sort 
of climax to my " Winter Vacation." 

A note from the good vicar of St. Bar- 
tholomew's, the Rev. T. W. S. Collis, 
reached me in Oxford inviting me down 
to take what duty I desired, on Palm 
Sunday and the week following. I un- 
dertook to preach twice on Palm Sunday, 
twice on every day in Holy Week, ex- 
cept on Good Friday, when I was to con- 
duct the service of the " Three Hours," 
and preach also at night. This episode 
of work during my vacation was most 
welcome. 

On my way to Brighton I passed 
through London. It was the day of the 
University boat race. This I could not 
by any possibility attend; but as I had 
seen one of the crews on the river at Ox- 
ford, and had also once seen a similar 



Co <£nglant* anti IBacfc. 181 

event from the vantage ground of a charm- 
ing lawn, with the added interest of good 
company and a good luncheon, I did not 
so much miss the sights on this occasion, 
when there would be nothing for me, ex- 
cept the jostling crowd. 

London never looked brighter. It was 
all aglow with light and color, and seemed 
like a new place under the phenomenal 
sunshine. It was pleasant to see the pub- 
lic interest in the boat race ; dark blue and 
light blue vied everywhere for promi- 
nence. It was on the cabbies' whips, on 
the caps of the omnibus conductors, in 
buttonhole bouquets, in the shop windows, 
on ladies' hats, everywhere. I had a little 
visit to make between my trains up at 
Chelsea, near Cheyne Walk, sacred to 
Carlyle, the Rossettis, George Eliot, 
Whistler, and hosts of artists and literati. 
I do not wonder at the selection of such a 
place for residence, for it is a sheltered 
nook well withdrawn from the crush and 
roar of London, and has the Thames be- 
fore it, with the double daily sweep of its 
grand tidal current. Opposite, too, is 
Battersea Park; I was tempted by its trees 
and shrubbery to take a stroll there my- 



Co <£nglan* antj ISacfc, 



self before making my call. It was de- 
lightful to find such a spot so accessible in 
crowded London. Great stretches of 
green sward were there, flocks of sheep 
on the grass, and embowering branches to 
shut out all else but a dream of sylvan se- 
clusion. I enjoyed it all, especially the 
little groups of children, happy and con- 
tented in their sports. 

My little visit was upon a dear good 
lady, whom I had not met for twenty 
years, but seeing that I was in England, 
she sent for me to talk of her son in Holy 
Orders in the American Church. 

It was pleasant to see the mother's 
heart evince its love, and to read the news- 
paper clippings which told of the young 
civil engineer going out to Indiana, how 
he took interest in Church work as a lay- 
man, how he attracted the notice of his 
priest, how he was introduced to the 
Bishop, how he entered Gambier, and in 
due time took holy orders, and was in a 
few months to be made himself a priest. 
Our pleasant talk had to end, for I had to 
get back into the Strand before I took my 
train for Brighton. The tide was at the 
full, the river was thick with returning 



Co ©nglanti an* ISack, 183 

steamers and boats from the races, a bright 
sparkle was over everything, and it seemed 
the very thing to do, to take a steamer 
down to Charing Cross Wharf. Over 
and over again I had seen it all, but it 
seemed fresh as ever as we went from 
station to station, reaching at last the su- 
perb group of the Parliament Houses and 
Westminster Abbey. 

The ebb and flow of the Thames make 
it seem majestic, to have a life and force 
all its own ; it is like the throb of being or 
the conscious action of a mighty will. 
The Thames at London is really noble; 
above tidal effects it seems merely a pretty 
stream, but it is that, charming in its ever 
peaceful course through quiet greenery. 

I must say that I never tire of the grand 
effect of St. Paul's as seen from the river. 
It towers up with graceful, majestic sim- 
plicity, above the life of London. On 
this bright day it seemed more glorious 
than ever. The flowing lines of the dome 
reaching up to the great cross, suggested 
the confidence and harmony of the Faith, 
soaring above the varied and contradictory 
aims of time. Underneath was the tur- 
moil of housetops, apparently a heap with- 



1 84 Co ©nfilan* anti 33acfe. 

out ruling plan, but each the centre of 
keen personal aims. Above was that 
shapely dome surmounted by the cross, 
telling of the one great plan of God, for 
the salvation of the whole world. 

Landing at Charing Cross Wharf, I 
took a farewell turn or two once more 
in that ceaseless tide which ever pours 
through the Strand, and then a penny bus 
to Victoria station, and off to Brighton. 
The way was cheered by a charming 
group in the railway carriage, a young 
couple with child and nursemaid off for a 
holiday. Why did I not speak to them 
and have a chat! He was so bright look- 
ing, with a dark complexion, clear eyes, 
well cut features and kindly air. She was 
also beautiful and a brunette, with a great 
dash of yellow in her hat that became her 
immensely. The boy was a fairy, lovely 
as a dream, clad in sailor fashion, with a 
Neapolitan cap, and was half the way, 
deep in a picture book. The maid was 
by no means a beauty, and occupied her 
time with The Graphic and Tid Bits. 
In one corner of the car was another pas- 
senger, a young lady plainly dressed, deep 
in the perusal of a reporter's note book; 



Co ©ngiantJ an* 13acfe. 185 

one of that numerous class, " self-support- 
ing women." I watched her intent air, 
her business look, her occupied manner, 
and thought of the toil and suffering such 
gentle souls endure, and hoped she had 
her reward. We all, close together, yet 
far apart, whirled on to Brighton on a fast 
train, through the green English fields 
dotted with cricketers, foot ball players, 
and all the other signs of that healthy out- 
door British life. 

At last we pulled up at the station, 
when the young lady reporter asked the 
gentleman opposite if this was the place 
to get out at. " Really," said he, " I do 
not know, but fancy it is." It appeared, 
after all, that I was the only person in the 
compartment who had been to Brighton 
before. It was many, many years ago, 
when I went to call on a dear friend of 
DeKoven's; strange that his name and his 
fame should come up before me again 
here in Brighton in this visit, for a few 
days after my arrival, when invited to 
have my picture taken at Fry's, the emi- 
nent photographer's, the young man in 
attendance asked me if I knew Dr. De- 
Koven. " Years ago, sir, I saw him in 



1 86 Co (^ngianti antr ISacfe. 

Bath; I was then a very young man, but 
I was wonderfully taken with him." 

A hearty welcome awaited me at St. 
Bartholomew's vicarage, and soon I was 
settled with study and bed room, as con- 
tented and happy as if I had been there 
for years. The vicar suggested ere it 
should grow dark, a visit to the church. 
We entered that vast interior, and the 
awful Cistercian simplicity of it was over- 
powering. It is all plain brick, but even 
as a vast host made up of mortal men has 
its own sublimity, so this great pile told 
its own story, in its own grand way. The 
light streamed in from the upper windows 
in a great flood, softened by the evening 
hour. The effect of the interior of this 
great building is superb. There is a flood 
of light, but you see no windows. They 
are concealed from view by the immense 
thickness of the walls, and the supporting 
buttresses which project into the church. 
In its way, it is quite as impressive as 
Westminster Abbey, and for purposes of 
worship excels it. 

The great altar with the seven lamps 
hanging in front dominated the whole 
building. It stands elevated fourteen steps 



Co ©fngianti arils ISacfc. 187 

from the main floor, and is, with the great 
baldachino, most noble in its proportions. 
This church is one of the seven built in 
Brighton by the Rev. Mr. Wagner, who 
is still living. They must have cost a 
million dollars at least, for this one, St. 
Bartholomew's, cost one hundred thou- 
sand. Oh! but what a church for grand- 
eur and simple dignity it is! I had the 
extreme pleasure of being introduced to 
the Rev. Mr. Wagner. Quiet, unaffected 
as a child, his bright face lit up with a 
holy light as I told him how St. Bartholo- 
mew's impressed me. " I suppose," said 
he, " you must have some great churches 
in your wonderful Chicago? " A whirl 
went through my mind of all the trials and 
perplexities, and efforts, necessary in our 
difficult sphere to effect anything; and so, 
with a gasp, I said we had some churches 
that were quite creditable and witnesses 
to much love and sacrifice, but none, said 
I, as yet, like St. Bartholomew's. 

Next Sunday was Palm Sunday. We 
had the blessing of the palms and their 
distribution, with a procession, before the 
High Celebration. It was a tremendous 
sisfht to look out over that vast congrega- 



1 38 fto englanU an* 3Sacfc. 

tion, their faces touched by the vivid light 
of the bright day, and above them the 
clouds of incense, through which the sun's 
beams grandly gleamed in four great lu- 
minous slanting bars, from the four lancet 
windows m the end of the church. 

The music used was the Missa Regia 
with Merbecke's Creed, evidently well 
known, as the people joined in heartily. 
The sermon was my share of the work. 
It was the first time that I had preached 
to such a congregation in England, but a 
feeling of encouraging sympathy came up 
to me from the vast mass of upturned 
faces quietly and intently awaiting my 
first utterance. Before the High Celebra- 
tion began, I had been into the " little 
church," an adjoining building, crowded 
with children, boys and girls, while a 
Missa Cantata was in progress; at this, 
the little ones, with their own choir, and 
with full ritual propriety, say the entire 
service. The young priest who officiated 
was especially happy in his sermon and 
catechizing, and the children bright in 
their answers. A force of teachers and 
sisters were stationed with the children, and 
the best order and reverence prevailed. 



Eo ©nglanti anti ISacfc. 189 

The usual number of guilds, for all 
classes, men, women and children, have 
place in this parish, with a club also for 
men, but the busy work of Holy Week 
prevented my attendance or study of them. 

Of all that week I cannot speak, as I 
was a great part of it myself. It was a 
blessed week for me as, day by day, I looked 
out over the attentive and sympathetic 
congregation. The " Three Hours " ser- 
vice impressed me most. There must have 
been at least a thousand people present. 
The singing was inspiring. My theme 
was, " Life Lessons from the Seven 
Words," and, as hymn after hymn rolled 
out with its familiar words and well known 
tune, I was comforted and delighted. 

The church was a very De frqfundis 
in itself, every ornament gone, the altar in 
black, and back of it on high, an enor- 
mous Tau cross in oak, with the place for 
the sacred Feet, the nail holes in the wood, 
and above all the Title with its inscriptions 
in Hebrew, in Greek and in Latin. During 
Matins and the Reproaches which preced- 
ed the Three Hours, I could not keep my 
eyes from it. That empty cross, with a 
great white cloth draped over the extend- 



190 Co ©nglanti anfc ISacfe, 

ed arms, seemed to me the most solemn 
memento of the Crucifixion I ever saw. 
It preached silence and sorrow over all 
that vast church and hushed congregation. 
The " Three Hours " moved on as I have 
ever found, with a strange rapidity. In- 
tense occupation takes away from time the 
quality of extension. A moment may be 
seemingly infinite, and hours as a mere 
hand-breadth. 

On Easter Even I spent hours in the 
church watching the busy workers getting 
ready for Easter. Flowers were every- 
where, tufts of the dear yellow English 
primrose, spirea, lilies, snow-white aza- 
leas, and other blossoms I did not know. 
Above the great altar was the sexton plac- 
ing the enormous candles and flower vases, 
afterward to get the finishing touches 
from the sisters and their helpers. Of 
this sexton I must speak. He is a wiry 
little Japanese, with coal black hair and 
grizzled beard, keen and alive all over. 
Fudi seems never idle; the whole of the 
vast church he cleans himself, and con- 
stantly as it is thronged, it always seemed 
dustless and ready. He seemed to look 
at me as a sort of fellow foreigner, for he 



£To (^nglanti anti laacft. 191 

was always most pronounced with his 
hearty salutation, bringing the open palms 
of his hand front face to his forehead 
whenever we met, with a bright smile of 
recognition. It is a picture to see him 
ring the bell from his place at the end of 
the church. - He has a loop for his foot, 
and with that leverage he makes light 
work of it. When he rang the bell three 
and thirty tolls at the close of the Three 
Hours service, beginning at a signal from 
my uplifted hand at the stroke of three, I 
could not help thanking God that Chris- 
tian Fudi was there to join in the work. 

While I w r as loitering about the church 
one of the wardens met me and told me 
that he had been in connection with St. 
Bartholomew's over twenty years, and 
that for years he was the only man in at- 
tendance. What a contrast from to-day ! 
— a distinctive characteristic of the ser- 
vices is now the large attendance of men. 
It struck me at once as I went round with 
the procession on Palm Sunday, and the 
impression remained with me during all 
the services of Holy Week, especially the 
solemn service of the Three Hours. 

It was my happy privilege to celebrate 



192 Co ^nglanti anti Back 

at six o'clock on Easter Sunday; that was 
the second service of the day, and four 
more were to follow before the high ser- 
vice at eleven. I need not say how one's 
heart remembers distant friends, and the 
souls of those so well beloved who have 
gone before, on such an occasion. The 
very separation of time, and space, and 
condition, seems a spiritual connection 
rather than a real barrier. The soul can 
leap out over all that divides, and triumphs 
over them thus in its inherent wonderful 
power. At this service there was a goodly 
number to receive, and glad I was to see 
the seamed and blackened hands — the 
hands of labor — held up for the Bread of 
Life. How touching to look at them, 
some of them those of mere children. One 
little lad had a C. B. S. medal hung by a 
red cord about his neck. What a solace 
it is to administer at the altar, and to note 
the varying conditions of men, and to 
know that He can satisfy every need, and 
cleanse from all defilement. 

At the nine o'clock Celebration I was 
in church again to assist at the Commun- 
ion, and after that, at the High Celebra- 



Co (£nglanti anti 3i3acfc, 193 

tion at eleven. This was preceded by a 
solemn procession most impressive. Ba- 
den Powell's " Hail ! Festal Day," was 
grandly sung, the ever recurring chorus 
being heartily taken up by the vast con- 
gregation. In this as well as in various 
portions of the service, most efficient aid 
was given by a skilful cornetist. With 
rare tact he accompanied all through the 
music, now on the euphonium, now on the 
trombone, the French horn or the cornet. 
The man's heart was in his work. I 
knew why afterwards, when I saw him 
come faithfully to serve at some of the 
early Celebrations on week days. 

The music of the service was Eyre 
in E flat. Its familiar cadences carried my 
thoughts far away. It was grandly sung. 
The whole solemn service with priest, 
deacon, and sub-deacon properly vested, 
and with most careful and dignified ritual, 
was an object lesson in the reality of the 
historic Church, the dogmatic verities of 
historic truth, and the solemn importance 
of religion. 

Father Maturin was the preacher. 
His sermon w T as a brief but intenselv im- 



194 Co <£nglanfc antJ IBadt. 

passioned oration on the necessity of keep- 
ing a due proportion between the heart 
and head in matters of the Faith. The 
Magdalene at the empty tomb declaring 
with a rush of feeling that her Lord was 
taken away, was the type of love regard- 
less of reason, while Thomas who would 
not believe unless he could put his fingers 
into the print of the nails, and thrust his 
hand into the wound in the side, was a 
type of reason regardless of love. The 
thought was enlarged upon with a mas- 
ter's hand. It was a glorious sermon. 

In the afternoon I attended the chil- 
dren's serivce and catechising. There 
were no flowers, no sentiment, no Easter 
eggs, but there was positive dogma and 
clear teaching, and Catholic worship. The 
whole vast church was filled with children. 
It was beautiful to see the little ones watch 
the banners as they moved by in their 
mysterious and grave motion. To me 
there was something impressive in the 
gentle and unimpassioned faces looking 
down upon us from their silken folds. 
My own thoughts were reflected from 
the rapt faces of the little ones, as they 
watched their banners carried past. 



2To (^nglantr anti ISacfe. 195 

At Evensong the church was more 
than crowded. Father Maturin again 
preached. A grand procession brought 
the services of the day to a splendid close. 

Brighton, April iS, i8q2. 



196 Co <£nglatrti anti $3acfe. 



XXVIII. 

MY last day in England had peculiar 
charms and was full to the brim 
with interest. The friends with whom 
I was staying in Bolton, Lancashire, 
asked me what I would like to see, the 
Town Hall, the Museum, the Picture 
Gallery? They said nothing of the mills, 
nor the wild moors all beyond, breezy, 
and grandly monotonous, so I replied that 
I could see town halls and museums al- 
most anywhere, but that I should like to 
go into a cotton mill, and then, after- 
ward, take a tramp over the moors, while 
I had the opportunity. 

Down from the little villa, mercifully 
hemmed in by shrubbery from the great 
chimneys, we descended to one of the 
enormous cotton mills. I was taken 
through the whole process, from the raw 
cotton to the delicate and completed co- 
coon-looking bobbin, ready to be trans- 



Co <£nglan* anfc t3acft. 197 

formed into the woven fabric. Machines 
were stopped for me, the interior intrica- 
cies of their wonderful construction were 
moved slowly so that I might observe 
their complicated and beautifully certain 
operations. It was all like a kind of 
magic; there was a thunderous din, and 
silent figures moving about among the 
whirling spindles, dreadfully intent upon 
their unceasing toil. Conversation there 
could be none, and the ceaseless whirl of 
the wheels forbade idle loitering. As I 
walked about from room to room, in the 
heated air, laden with cotton fluff, and 
saw the silent, busy figures intent upon 
their work, I understood as never before 
what a luxury the loud talk, and the 
coarse frolic, and the free movement of a 
holiday, must be to such work-people. 
What a relief, too, must be the song and 
the chat when day is done, and silence 
settles down upon the mill; but here I am 
wrong, silence scarcely ever settles on the 
mill. It is worked by two sets of hands, 
and runs continuously, day in and day 
out, except during the hours from 2 a. m. 
until 6 A. m. On, and on, and on, the 
vast machinerv must ever sto. It is too 



198 Co (f^nglanti an* 33acfe. 

delicate, too complicated, too ponderous, 
to be ever allowed to get cool. 

The operatives had a sort of fascina- 
tion for me, as they went on so plod- 
dingly and yet keenly alive to their toil. 
In one room were two girls feeding a 
roaring machine with lumps of raw cot- 
ton which, with a graceful motion, they 
tore apart and flung in special order upon 
a moving frame before them. The noise 
was terrific. Their eyes were intent upon 
their work, as their arms, with incessant 
motion, fed the voracious machine. 

This was the first process from the 
cotton bale. We followed on until the 
cotton wool, like cobwebs upon dewy 
grass, was drawn from the carding ma- 
chines, on and on until the perfect thread 
was formed, and spun upon the great 
machines, each with its thousand spindles 
and hundred feet of length. 

Keenly the master operative with his 
boy assistants watched those thousand 
threads. Backwards and forwards from 
either side, the great machines advanced 
and receded, while in the ever-changing 
space between, the workers were in con- 
stant motion, stepping mechanically over 



2Fo <£nglanto ant* $5acfc* 199 

the advancing wheels, never making a 
false step; eye and hand and thought ever 
alert and at work. 

The atmosphere was hot and moist, to 
suit the tender filaments of the cotton 
wool; the floor looked dark and polished, 
saturated with oil; on this, with bare feet 
and grimy, scanty overalls, moved the 
spinner, his piecers, and the boys. I 
watched them intently, 'mid the fearful 
clatter of the wheels, the constant motion 
of the machinery, and the silent alertness 
of their own ceaseless toil. It enlarges 
one's heart and increases one's sympa- 
thies to see such sights. 

From the mills to the moors was a 
transition, and a grateful one. A car- 
riage drive brought us through outlying 
suburbs to our destination, where, send- 
ing our vehicle on to meet us beyond, we 
tramped across the breezy heath, over 
moss and fell, another way. The free air 
of heaven never seemed so good before. 
In the dim distance, on every side, were 
the tall chimneys of collieries and facto- 
ries, a forest of human energy and toil. 
Smoke in clouds hung ever them, but 
above our heads the larks were singing, 



200 Co <£nglanti anti i$atk. 

the bright clouds floated by in billowy 
state, and the bee and blossom were at 
our feet. 

We all too soon reached our carriage 
and found a neighboring old English inn 
not a bad place to rest a little, where we 
duly enjoyed the wine of the country in 
the shape of beer, and bread, and cheese. 
The room in which we sat was worth 
seeing. It was wainscoted and seated 
with comfortable benches, almost as dig- 
nified as a cathedral choir. On the man- 
tel-piece was a picture of Archer, the 
jockey, surrounded by numerous lesser 
lights in his exciting profession, and the 
room was further ornamented with sev- 
eral brilliant hunting scenes. The imag- 
ination could easily fill in a winter's even- 
in 2f with " cakes and ale," and sons^s of 
hound and hunting horn, and " jolly good 
fellows, every one." 

From the moors back to town again, 
and then by train for Chester, which I 
duly reached by 6:10 p. m. Here were 
other dear friends to welcome me, friends 
linked by kindred memories of those long 
at rest. When I announced that I was 
to take the Irish mail that nisrht for 



Eo <£nglantj anti 33acfe. 201 

Kingstown, via Holyhead, there was 
much disappointment, but with true deli- 
cacy the most was made of my brief stay. 
Out then, after tea, for one more walk 
about the walls of Chester. What a 
lovely close to my day, beginning in the 
morning, at the mill; at noon, upon the 
wild moors; at evening, at the Minster, 
drinking in the beauty of the setting sun, 
as it shone upon the Dee side, and the 
towers and battlements of Chester! It 
was a lovely walk, looking down upon 
the green sward of the great race course, 
dotted with cricketers, and boys at sport; 
out over the graceful stretch of landscape 
to the Welsh mountains; on by the 
waters of the Dee, watching the changing 
lights, and the fishermen at their work; 
on and on, until we reached the cathedral, 
and leaned over the parapet of the old 
walls, chatting of old times and watching 
the darkness creep down over all, until 
the lace-like forms on gable and pinnacle 
were alone distinguishable in the dark 
and sombre mass. It was all most beau- 
tiful. We strolled back in the darkness 
to the home fireside, where, in pleasant 
converse, we passed the time until the 



202 Co (£ngianfc anti Back, 

midnight hour, which took us off, through 
Wales, by Holyhead, across the Irish 
Sea, landing us in the morning at the 
picturesque harbor of Kingstown. 

Our last day in England, with its pic- 
tures of the mills, the moors, and the 
Minster, will not soon be forgotten. 

Adamstozvji, Ireland, April 22 } 1892. 



Co ©nglantr antr ISacfc. 203 



XXIX. 

MY stay on the return to Ireland, 
waiting for the steamer, which 
I take to-morrow at Queenstown, has 
been of the quietest description. As I 
passed through Dublin, I learned that the 
Synod of the Church of Ireland was to 
convene in a day or two, at Christ Church 
cathedral. There was a momentary de- 
sire to stay over and witness it, but sun- 
shine and clouds and green fields and 
utter rusticity for eight or ten days before 
embarking, seemed altogether better and 
more inviting, and that was my choice. 
I had in my retreat, it is true, the echoes 
of the world I had left; pleasant letters 
from Brighton, invitations to come again 
and enjoy English hospitality, farewell 
letters from dear friends. I had, too, my 
American mail, and with all these I was 
happy; with the dun cows grazing before 
me, and lambs at play by their mothers 



204 Co ©nglanti anti 33acfe. 

in the grass, days were never dull with 
such companions. 

The walk by the trout stream was 
always beautiful ; the rapids, the shallows, 
the deep pools, the wayward curves, the 
water plants, the flying birds, the possible 
fish and fishing, the lovely landscape, the 
great bulk of the distant mountains — it 
was all good. 

I took the steamer " Brittanic," of the 
White Star line, from Queenstown, on 
the afternoon of the 5th of May. While 
waiting for the arrival of the mails from 
Dublin by rail, many of the returning 
Americans came on shore, availing them- 
selves of the opportunity to visit Irish 
soil, making merry parties on flying jaunt- 
ing cars, laden down with golden blos- 
som of the gorse, fragrant lilac bloom, 
and great bunches of purple rhododen- 
dron. 

The luxuriant foliage and genial shel- 
ter of Queenstown never seemed more 
beautiful. The hours of waiting soon 
were past, the mails were quickly handled, 
and we were steaming along, once more, 
the rock-bound coast, out into the great 
deep. 



<ZTo ©nglanti anfc li5acfe. 205 

On the morning of the 13th my voy- 
age was over, and once more I was on 
American soil. It was indeed lovely to 
come on deck in the early morning and 
find the steamer at anchor off Sandy 
Hook. The Fort, with its green velvet 
grassy embrasures, the trees in full f oliage, 
and the ever-welcome stone spire of 
Nevesink church, made a pleasant picture 
to look upon after the grand monotony of 
the sea. 

The voyage, however, was not, for me, 
monotonous. It was a long holiday. In 
the early morning there was a glorious 
plunge in high proof, genuine salt water, 
then black coffee, a little rest, and a good 
brisk walk on deck, and then breakfast, 
with a good sea appetite. The hours 
never wearied. If I wanted utter loneli- 
ness, I could get out on the forward turtle 
back, and have before me the great circle 
of the sea, westward, and not a soul in 
sight. The huge steamer seemed to carry 
myself alone. If I wanted memories of 
the past, I could get back in equal solitude 
at the stern, and fancy the British Isles, 
where I spent so many pleasant months, 
beyond the waves which bounded my 



206 Co ©nglanfc ana 13aclL 

gaze to the eastward. If I wanted com- 
pany, I also had that. My opposites at 
the dinner-table were two most interesting 
men from Pittsburgh, who had been out 
in Roumania to prospect for petroleum. 
They were of Scotch-Irish extraction, the 
third generation from the old liome, full 
of fun, vigor and American breeziness. 
Their Roumanian experiences were worth 
listening to. By my side was a good 
stout friend from gastronomic Baltimore. 
Beyond was a saturnine young English- 
man, from a Florida orange grove, gen- 
tlemanly and good-natured under a most 
alligator-like severity. Nor were other 
interests lacking. One could excite to 
gentle conversation the fair mummies on 
the deck, swathed in shawls and en- 
throned in their steamer chairs; or the 
smoking-room was at hand, where the 
incense of friendship was ever ablaze; or 
the steerage could be looked into, with all 
its nationalities and various types of hu- 
manity. As for reading or writing, that 
was out of the question ; a cerebral excite- 
ment comes from life on the sea, which 
at once arouses to action and prevents any 
positive concentration. It provides the 



&o <£nglantJ anti IBacfe, 207 

best possible excuse for doing nothing. 
In this happy condition were most of the 
occupants of the smoking-room, aroused 
only from their delicious Havana by the 
announcement of the day's run, or the 
necessary replenishment of the sustaining 
pipe or goblet. 

Our saloon passenger list was some- 
what limited, about seventy in all, but 
among them I again found evidences of 
the smallness of the world. The first day 
out I made acquaintance with a fine 
young fellow who had been to Liverpool 
with a load, of cattle from the West. I 
found him to be one of De Koven's boys 
at Racine, a graduate at Yale, a Church- 
man and a gentleman. How much we 
had to talk of in our many walks on deck! 

Two splendid fellows I found also, 
Chicago men, buyers for one of our 
mammoth houses, on their return trip 
from Europe. Another, in the same line, 
I found from New York, who knew one 
of my old choristers at the cathedral, now 
growm up and a yearly buyer in Paisley 
and Manchester. 

A charming young lady I found to be 
the niece of a brother priest — my class- 



2o8 Co <£nglanti anti ISacfc* 

mate in the seminary, and a dear friend ever 
since. An English lady bound for Wis- 
consin, I found to be on her way thither 
to join her brother, whom I knew well. 

A well-to-do, elderly gentleman from 
New York, who had just done the holy 
places in Palestine, and also Egypt and 
the Nile, I found to be the parishioner of 
a dear friend of many years' standing. 
So when Sunday came about, I felt that 
we were a lot of friends together, and the 
service and sermon was a labor of love. 

The voyage all through was most 
pleasant. For a day or two the sea was 
"deeply, darkly, beautifully blue," but 
after that it took on a soberer tone. We 
had no storms, but we had the great long 
roll of the Atlantic, which told of tumults 
further off. Of these we heard when we 
got on shore, for an incoming steamer, 
travelling at the same time, was badly 
damaged by mountainous waves, whose 
rhythmic echoes alone, we experiencedc 

There are few sights more glorious 
than New York harbor, from the city to 
the sea or from the sea to the city. One 
greets it ever with fresh enthusiasm. In 
majestic order the great ship, with its at- 



2To t&nglattti anti ISatk. 209 

tendant tugs, slowly gains the wharf; 
gently as a child going to sleep the huge 
bulk moves on; surely, like fate, the mo- 
ment of landing comes, and for the thou- 
sand souls on board a new life begins. 
Some step out to pleasant friends and 
hearty greetings — such was my happy 
lot — others to begin again the battle of 
life in a new and untried land, among 
utter strangers. 

I looked with deep interest at the large 
stream of steerage passengers, over nine 
hundred, filing off across the dock to the 
tenders which were to convey them to 
the Bureau of Immigration; and then at 
my fellow passengers in the saloon, all 
intent upon the ordeal of the customs. 
There were courteous farewells among 
us, and many hopes of renewed meeting, 
and soon, in due time, I reached again the 
hospitality of I East 29th st, which had 
been wafted to me across the broad At- 
lantic, and cheered me up through all the 
way. 

As I rang the bell at the well-known 
door, I turned about and took in once 
more the bright flowers, the splashing 
fountain, the merry sparrows, with Bel- 



210 Co ©nglanti anH 3Sack. 

teshazzar and Chedarlaomer in feline ma- 
jesty looking lazily on. I was aroused 
from my momentary reverie by the 
voice of the good doctor, who had him- 
self, unperceived, opened the door behind 
me, greeting me at the same time in 
cheery tone, with the classic welcome, 
" salve.'''' 

May ij, 1892. 



Co ©nglanti aria i3acfc, 211 



XXX. 

WHEN one gets home from foreign 
parts, familiar sights and sounds 
take on a strange peculiarity, which they 
never seemed to have before. How queer- 
ly free and easy the average New York 
policeman looks, compared with his Lon- 
don brother. What a lounging aspect at 
the cab stand. How odd the cosmopoli- 
tan names which follow each other on the 
shop signs. How independent and incon- 
venient the indiscriminate use of side- 
walks for all sorts of business purposes. 
How tired and eager looking the average 
man. How mature and self-possessed the 
children, how bright and wide-awake the 
whole aspect of things, how confident of 
self, how heedless of rubbish and disorder, 
amid splendor and magnificence on every 
hand. 

Assertive architecture, bright skies, 
gay colors, drive, dash and bustle every- 
where and, through it all, a certain hide- 



212 Co <£nglanfc anfc 3Sacfc. 

pendent carelessness which shows itself in 
the faces of all about you. This is New 
York. I saw more than this though on 
on my first day back. The chestnut trees 
were in full bloom at the Worth Monu- 
ment, and the great stretch of Madison 
Square was a bower of greenery. There 
is no street scene in my mind that has 
more of glitter in it than that spot in New 
York, where Broadway runs diagonally 
across Fifth avenue at 23d st. I stood 
there a short time to watch the crowd 
which never passes by, but is always pass- 
ing. It is a steady stream of American 
life which nowhere else presents such 
contrasts of all sorts and conditions 
of men and women, the vast majority 
showing evidence of that levelling-up 
process, which is the great distinctive 
aspect of American city life as com- 
pared with all others. The shop girl 
trips along dressed a-la-mode and the 
mechanic or clerk gives little evidence 
of any special calling. A certain touch 
of fancy and vivacity is in all about 
you. It is on the shop fronts, on the 
street vehicles, on everything. This dash 
and elan appears in the very services of 



fto <£nglantr anti ISacft* 213 

the Church. The clergy do not look as 
if their surplices were thrown on, their 
stoles are straight and neat. If hoods are 
worn, they have a fastidious exactness of 
cut and color quite remarkable. I saw 
four on in one vestry, all different and at- 
tractive. A touch of American improve- 
ment is given to every object, including 
even the Church itself. I strolled into 
Grace church and had a look round at 
that representative building, and noticed 
the peculiar comfortable luxuriousness 
which one never sees in churches abroad. 
I also noticed that the choir, which for- 
merly had stalls at each side of the chan- 
cel, was moved back to the gallery over 
the west front. It seemed to be a very 
sensible proceeding. A choir of profes- 
sional men and women, close up to the 
altar at each side, is not always sure of 
being a help to devotion at all times. If 
also they sing elaborate music, needing a 
conductor's hand, which certainly they 
ought, the mechanism of the musical pro- 
cess becomes disagreeably prominent. 
Other churches will follow this lead and, 
possibly, we will see ere long a revival of 
west gallery choirs. I am sure there are 



2J4 Co <£nglantJ ant* SSatk. 

few more distressing experiences than the 
cluttered up vestry rooms of little church- 
es, where priests and choir vest together, 
and the horror is continued and intensified 
in small chancels where choristers, organ, 
organist, bellows-blower, priest and altar, 
are all huddled together in a space some- 
times less than twelve feet by ten! Bet- 
ter choir stalls well down in the nave 
among the people, with the organ above 
at the west end, or, just as well, the choir 
surpliced in the west gallery. 

The indiscriminate use of choirs of 
men and boys illy trained and bundled into 
our small chancels, is not an American 
improvement, although too prevalent a 
use. The echoes of English choirs are 
yet in my ears, which one hears from the 
distance of nave or transept, or stands 
beside in the spacious choir, while on be- 
yond is the altar, withdrawn within its 
own sacred space We have much to 
learn and much to get rid of in our sur- 
pliced choirs, and perhaps must bring the 
well-trained adult voices of men and wo- 
men once more to lead the music of many 
of our churches, from the quiet vantage 
ground of the Western Gallery. 



Co C^nglanft artti 13acfe. 215 

During my few days in New York 1 
made a visit to the site of the new Cathedral 
of St. John the Divine and tried to imagine 
what a grand place it will be when com- 
pleted. The position is magnificence it- 
self. It is a crowning point of the great 
upheaval which rises on the western side 
of Manhattan Island.' It will tower up 
and be a landmark from the lower bay. 
It will dominate the Hudson river. It 
will crown the verdure of Central Park 
with its soaring splendors. It will say to 
millions through all time, " This is none 
other than the house of God and the very 
gate of Heaven." 

All this in the future; but at present, 
even, it is very beautiful. The old Leake 
and Watts orphan asylum, now no longer 
used as such, occupies the grounds. An 
old-fashioned pillared portico accents the 
front; above is a great cross. Ample 
stretches of greensward are on every side, 
and grand trees and flowering shrubs sug- 
gest the palace of the sleeping beauty. 
The kiss must be a golden one which will 
waken all to life, but the coming chink of 
that is already heard. On the gateway 
was this inscription, which gives a signifi- 



216 Co <£nglan* anti SSacfe. 

cant hint of the spiritual life which gold 
cannot buy, "for the price of wisdom is 
above rubies." Here it is: 

CATHEDRAL 

OF 

ST. JOHN THE DIVINE, 

TEMPORARY CHAPEL. 

HOLY COMMUNION 

EVERY SUNDAY 

AT 9 A. M. 

ALL ARE WELCOME. 

As I looked at that sign my mind re- 
verted to a scene I witnessed over thirty 
years ago, when Bishop Whitehouse held 
the first services in his cathedral chapel 
at Chicago, which he afterward enlarged 
and named the Cathedral of Saints Peter 
and Paul. As I looked at the prospective 
magnificence before me in New York, I 
felt that the western fact made the eastern 
hope a splendid possibility. But my mind 
went back farther yet to the first public 
utterance of the second Bishop of Illinois, 
when in his address of either 1851 or 1852, 
he outlined the Cathedral system, declar- 
ing it to be a necessary adjunct to the 
Episcopate, being, as he afterwards formu- 
lated it, " the complement of the head- 
ship." 



Co <£nglanij anti iSack. 217 

I would like to see in the Cathedral of 
St. John the Divine, New York, a grand 
recumbent monument to Bishop White- 
house with this inscription thereon : " The 
founder of the first American cathedral." 

During my stay in New York I also 
visited the new St. Agnes'. It presents a 
most imposing appearance from the out- 
side, making, with its rectory, parish build- 
ing, and chapel, a magnificent pile. It is 
in the new and growing part of the west 
side of the city, at 92d street and Tenth 
avenue. The residences here are detached 
like those on our best Chicago boulevards, 
and the streets are ended by the distant 
greenness of Hoboken seen across the 
Hudson river. The House of God seems, 
as it ought, to be the best house there. 
From the outside at least, you feel satis- 
fied that the $800,000 which all cost was 
well spent. Frankly I cannot say as 
much for the inside. The first shock was 
to see the view on entering cut off by an 
overhanging gallery at the west entrance. 
The second was to feel the incongruous 
and strange mixture of pointed arches un- 
der the great central tower, with rounded 
arches farther on, and on every hand in 



Co <£nglatrtf anti 13aclt, 



the rest of the structure. The third was 
to find that the lantern of the tower, 
which should flood the inside with soft, ra- 
diant light from above, was all blocked up 
with darkest stained glass, with a glint here 
and there of ruby or of yellow. What 
should have been a fountain of purest 
light, was an impenetrable cavern, a place 
of gloom. 

The sugary profusion of light marbles 
and gilt mosaic gives a luxurious air to the 
whole edifice. The redeeming feature 
was a certain archaic effect, produced by 
the marble altars and stalls and other fur- 
niture, suggestive of early Christian art, 
as seen in San Clemente and the cata- 
combs. 

I sat down in the pews and watched 
the people coming in to rent their sittings. 
We must, of course, have pewed churches, 
but my mind reverted with thankfulness 
to St. Augustine's and St. Chrysostom's 
both free, and to dear old Trinity at the 
head of Wall St., and I thought with glad- 
ness of how nearly that also was a free 
church, and how much it was ahead of 
anything like the new St. Agnes'. I 
thought, too, of graceful Trinity chapel. 



Co <£ti glanti anti SSacfc, 219 

Yes, also of classical St. John's, doomed, 
alas! to destruction, and felt that we may 
have gorgeous experiments in architecture, 
but few such truthful exponents of real art 
as the churches I have named. To say- 
that the Parthenon has not been surpassed 
need not seem a slur upon present achieve- 
ment. It simply states a fact. 

I also happened into the new Zion and 
St. Timothy — awkward name, but really 
beautiful church. It is one of Halsey 
Wood's designs, and has the notes of that 
peculiar stateliness which so eminently per- 
tains to his structures. It is, inside and 
outside, brick, and, except for a little pew 
upholstery, has that honest, sturdy sever- 
ity of the best English work. The sex- 
ton told me with great unction how well 
they were off, having a good endowment, 
free pews, and an overflowing congrega- 
tion as liberal as one could wish. Like 
everything else in America, a free church 
must come under the general rule of suc- 
cess, or it will not succeed. It must have 
a good start, a large edifice, and every 
evidence of life and prosperity, and then 
the people will flock in. 

This St. George's, Stuyvesant Square 



: SftgUml an^ L: r - 



r : : : : :>t ::. fine granc : 

inherited f :: hi pevr-renting lays, and lid 
: :^ t- :z ~ z iminence hooked 

tn :: the :li : hie ties :: years 

'-. !:•:•-. 

I ~: - ;: -: Z . - — :::. Z:: 
7 .„-. - — " evening service m 

E ' - - the great c< grega- 

t::r ;.\ the rhte ?irigin° : the people. 

Thf : .-■- hi - - - 

pre for a diocese was vwa : 
half long How lifferently tfai gs 

te.h :: : . -._ :: .: "-her. he i= : wor- 
.z the v he The sermon 



- - : ■ ■ . ■ . .- . _ i: me the amazed 
: . _ r.er. :-._-.: t ter ; 

--. e . . : fte: perit'U rthe: h 
md belli g 

: ■ " : _ - - i to the 
I h. :-. it ; i: : the G« 

The :l:-gi eal .S Hoi 

:.: . ;-: : s.fte: the 

. ■ . : '. : 

We : ■•.'.- •.-.- 

I naj add even, that I 

a coh eg« 3E 

".:::: --:..- :: h : :: ' .e- -. i-hi; t::tr.- 



Co t£nglanfc an& J3act. 



: -.-■-.- : 7 . : : 
Xr" Y:rk. T.".r : i z:~± :: :>.= 

. : - 1 Pi " : - - 

sonnel of the 

air of re ligi is f eelLir m 7 

enti: sence of orix 

nu.ir.e : ... -: - . .- - :.-.e . 

::-e'f. : . - ~ _ 7.7-7.7 

7 7 .iltar and rerc - : : 

: 7 7 -~ - : 

pavements :he > : 7: ~ . 

the reson _ . 

duce 7 7 7 

- I Magdalene, tc Exeter, fee Kie- 

7. and bo Nc 

If * r f _ 7 : ?•: 

to put a great _ - d sea 

: . . ::■ = . ■ . ; - 

: - . 

like 1 of some : : _ 

But as - 
I . . I 

I . _ 

TV . - ?: East 

t fastens . - . . - : 



222 Co ©nglanti anti iSacft. 

One, my first Celebration after returning, 
at the Midnight Mission ; the other, a visit 
to St. Peter's, Morristown, New Jersey, 
where I found a beautiful church just 
completed except the tower, which 
brought back to life here in this western 
land the best type of sacred building one 
could find in the old home, untouched 
by glare or finical ornament, but grave, 
solemn, real, precious, beautiful, chaste, a 
very symbol of the Living Church, a no- 
ble bride adorned for the heavenly bride- 
groom. 

New Vork, May 18, i8g2. 



Co ©nglantj antj ISacfe. 223 



XXXI. 

/^~~\NCE again on a train for the West, 
V_/ the voyage over, friends in New 
York revisited, and sweet old memories 
renewed, we start on the home stretch for 
Chicago! 

There is a feeling of splendid achieve- 
ment in the personnel of a limited train 
on one of our great railroads. When I 
say jyersonnel, I do not mean merely the 
officers or their assistants, but the very 
train itself, including in that term the 
whole equipment. 

To walk through from end to end, 
from dining car to the library and smok- 
ing-car, is a revelation of energy and in- 
tellect combining to make travel a delight. 

You have crossed the ocean on a vast 
monster whose food is fire and whose 
breath is steam. Under the scales of this 
leviathan you have slept in peace, and in its 
bosom you have been cherished with royal 
dainties: and now, a tamed monster of like 



224 Co ^nglanti an* ISacfc. 

breed, a flying dragon of strange verte- 
brate variety, bends its back to your foot 
and whirls you in luxurious safety across 
the continent. 

It gives one a renewed home enthusi- 
asm to dash on so splendidly, up the 
glorious valley of the Hudson, and on and 
on to the great level stretches which await 
the traveller by the mighty lakes. 

The Hudson river never seemed more 
lovely, nor the Catskills more grand. Si- 
lently one watched the flying panorama, 
vainly longing to possess as a permanent 
pleasure the framed-in landscape of even 
one car window. 

The first long, splendid dash brought 
us to Albany, where one fain would stop 
and refresh himself with the beauty of 
the first structure in America which fitly 
expresses the cathedral idea. There, at 
least, one can find a grand building, well 
conceived, the work well-done, and all 
beginnings harmonious — foundations for 
nobly designed further progress. Nothing 
to undo, and much yet to accomplish in 
faith and love. 

While we were taking a step or two 
on the platform in the brief stoppage at 



Co (Jrnglanfc ana SSack. 225 

Albany, Bishop Coxe passed by and took 
our train for Buffalo. He looked well 
and returned our salutation with all the 
grace and courtesy which are so eminently 
his. I wish I could tell all the nice things 
he said, and the compliments which made 
it evident that at least on the score of per- 
sonal health my " Winter Vacation " had 
been to me a success. 

The day wore on through New York 
State. A sweet oblivion fell over all the 
night of our journey, and my waking out- 
look was nearing home, but yet in In- 
diana. 

After the varied outlines of English 
scenery, the majestic monotony of the 
sea, the splendors of New York and the 
glory of the Catskills, the first look on a 
western landscape has a sort of spectral 
lightness. 

The few simple elements of scattered 
trees, flat horizon, and vast aerial spaces, 
all help to produce this effect. The sky 
was palest blue, with a stiff array of for- 
mal fleecy clouds stretched in lines across 
it, while beneath were the branching 
trees just touched with vivid green, and 
the earth, yet bare of summer bravery, 



226 Co <£itfilaittJ anti Back. 

stretching out in its vast indefmiteness, 
telling us that we are in " the West." 

Another voice with a like message soon 
sounded out to us from the right hand. 
Ere long we were by the mighty lake. A 
strip of yellow sand alone separated us 
from the dancing waves. The vast bend 
of the great circling horizon, tremendous 
as the ocean, uttered to us again the thrill- 
ing message: " This is the West." 

Nearing the very end of a long jour- 
ney has in it a certain thrilling interest 
of unrest and expectancy. Months have 
fled, changes have come, much has hap- 
pened, the past has gone; the future to 
come, what will it be? 

The pleasant friends of the long rail- 
road journey have already said adieu, the 
baggage man is in the train ; on we fly 
through the far-reaching miles of Chi- 
cago, until at last we roll into the station 
and alight to the pleasant greetings of 
faithful friends, and then, off through 
the whirl of Chicago to our welcome 
home. 

While the strange new light is yet on 
all that surrounds us here, let us jot down 
our returning experience. We note with 



Co ©nglanH anfc ISacfc. 227 

interest the vast array of primordial cells 
of social life in the long stretch of artisan 
cottages which reach out for miles on the 
prairies. The great school houses loom 
up, cross-tipped spires are not altogether 
wanting, but the denominating feature of 
all is "business, business, business." The 
clanging bells of the constant trains ring 
" business, business." The huge eleva- 
tors roar out " business ;" the vast piles of 
stately warehouses, splendid in architec- 
ture and Egyptian-like in their solid 
grandeur, utter in deep tones, " business." 
The sky-scrapers that dwarf Cologne or 
York Minster, shriek " business." The 
unmerciful cable cars, the Juggernauts of 
commerce, snarl out "business;" the toss- 
ing crowds are intent on "business." 
Huge gaps are seen here and there where 
vast buildings have been torn down by 
"business," to make room for greater 
" business." It looks as if a tornado had 
struck the whole place and left piles of 
building material on all sides scattered 
about, but the cyclone whirl which has 
done it all is merely the breath of " busi- 
ness." 

Amid all this din of " business " a note 



228 Co <£nglairtr antJ 33acft. 

struck in of strange, antique tone. It was 
in accord with much that I had observed 
in England where religion has been 
cared for in the past and fortified for the 
future. It witnessed to the reproduction 
here in Chicago of that system by which 
a " rent charge " is made to support the 
services of religion. This strange tone in 
the midst of all Chicago's din of business 
came from some mission buildings close 
by the railroad tracks, over which I was 
passing. There I saw a magnificent 
plant consisting of chapel, mission rooms 
(medical and social), manual training 
schools and gymnasium, all surrounded 
by block after block of flats, the rental of 
which sustained the entire fabric, paying 
all expenses of the mission, giving at the 
same time healthful, tasteful and invit- 
ing homes to the people, and affording 
them also, absolutely free, a place of wor- 
ship and the humanizing influences of re- 
ligion and pastoral care. Here, on what 
is designated a non-sectarian basis, a 
common-sense Chicago millionaire has 
adopted the Church's old plan of secur- 
ing religious privileges for the masses, by 
a rent charge on occupied property. 



Co ©nglanfc anti ^ack. 229 

This business man represents the State 
giving privilege of occupancy to its citi- 
zens, under the condition that they shall 
pay a rent charge for the support of re- 
ligion within their boundaries. The old 
revives amid the new. 

It is pleasant to see all this amid the 
whirl of " business." Vast structures 
have been run up during my six months' 
absence. I am almost a stranger in what 
were once to me familiar streets. Now 
all is changed or changing. I visit the 
World's Fair Buildings, and am tired out 
by the mere walk from each to each; and 
all around. Through ornamental gar- 
dens, and by lagoons, an army of work- 
men are hard at it, and all branches seem 
to move on together. Here, a crowd of 
men arrayed in India rubber clothing are 
planting a variety of aquatic plants in the 
ornamental waters; there, electricians; be- 
yond, engineers; aloft, machine fitters 
joining the enormous arches of the great 
Machinery Hall; on every side work, 
work, while the great lake lies fast asleep 
beyond, and the great city stretches out 
its vast depths on either side. But the 
time will come, yes, is coming, when 



230 Co (£nglanti anti H$ack. 

there will be the fair fruits of this " busi- 
ness." The Newberry Library looks 
noble and inspiring in its rising beauty in 
Washington Square. The Chicago Uni- 
versity already begins to present a splen- 
did appearance. The foundations of the 
new Art Building are in, upon the Lake 
Front; Kretschman's inspired Columbus 
will also soon be there in breathing 
bronze; and so, little by little, or rather I 
should say, much by much, Chicago 
emerges from the youthful ravenousness 
of insatiate business, to the wider and 
calmer condition of solid acquirement, re- 
poseful pleasure, and refined rest. 

Amid all the roar and bustle of civic 
existence, it was sweet to note the mod- 
est but most eventful indications of 
Church life, the growth of six months. 
Among these, the new parish house for 
the mother church of the West, St. 
James', Chicago, the great organ at the 
Epiphany, the projected churches for 
St. Paul's, Kenwood, St. Paul the Apos- 
tle, Austin, and other edifices, close to, 
or in the city; but beyond all this, the 
spirit of work and progress which charac- 
terized the diocesan convention, where 



Co <£nglanfc anti ISacfe. 231 

so many of my brethren gladly wel- 
comed me back among them from 'Eng- 
land after my most pleasant, profitable, 
and happily ended " Winter Vacation." 

Chicago, May ji, 1892, 



LAUREL-CROWNED VERSE. 

Edited by Francis F. Browne. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. By Sir 
Walter Scott. 

CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. A 
Romaunt. By Lord Byron. 

LALLA ROOKH. An Oriental Romance. 
By Thomas Moore. 

IDYLLS OF THE KING. By Alfred, 

Lord Tennyson. 
PARADISE LOST. By John Milton. 

THE ILIAD OF HOMER. Translated by 
Alexander Pope. 2 vols. 

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collation of all the more authentic editions. 



The special merit of these editions, aside from the 
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Whenever the author has provided a preface or notes, 
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A contribution to current literature of quite unique 
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with an Introduction, by Edward Gilpin 

Johnson. 
The Best Letters of Lady Mary Wortley 

Montagu. Edited, with a Dedicatory Let- 
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The Best Letters of Horace Walpole. Edited, 

with an Introduction, by Anna B. 

McMahan. 
The Best Letters of Madame de Sevigne. 

Edited, with an Introduction, by Edward 

Playfair Anderson. 
The Best Letters of Charles Lamb. Edited, 

with an Introduction, by Edward Gilpin 

Johnson. 
The Best Letters of Percy Bysshe Shelley. 

Edited, with an Introduction, by Shirley 

C. Hughson. 
The Best Letters of William Cowper. Edited, 

with an Introduction, by Anna B. 

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Amid the great flood of ephemeral literature that 
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These Laurel-Crowned Volumes are little gems in 
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The typography is quite faultless.— Critic, New 
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For this series the publishers are entitled to the 
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B 



IOGRAPHIES OF MUSICIANS. 



LIFE OF LISZT. With Portrait. 
LIFE OF HAYDN. With Portrait. 
LIFE OF MOZART. With Portrait. 
LIFE OF WAGNER. With Portrait. 
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and his artistic creations were in harmony with his great 
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FOR YOUNG PEOPLE, By Miss E. S. 
Kirkland, author of " Six Little Cooks," " Dora's 
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I2MO., EXTRA, CLOTH, BLACK AND GILT, $I.25„ 

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H 46- 79 




Vjtfd 



